That's an order
by So Everybody Dance
Summary: Three years after an acrimonious break up Molly Dawes stumbles across Captain James in Kabul. Will they get together again or will it be fireworks!
1. Chapter One: Drama in Kabul

"You want me to conceal you from Captain James?" Qaseem's voice rose in shock. "I can't do that!"

"Yes I do want you to hide me from the Boss. And you gotta do it." Molly Dawes lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. "Please Qaseem! I'll explain afterwards. "

The Bossman was fast approaching the car. In a sort of panic Molly took in his long legs encased in low-slung black jeans, the long sleeved Khaki shirt and his dark wavy hair, which was slightly longer now than when he'd been in the army. As he recognised Qaseem, a wide smile flashed across his face, sending her pulse soaring.

Oh, how could this be happening to her, in bleeding Kabul of all places? Just ten minutes ago, it had all been going so well, even if it was a bit hot underneath her voluminous, black _niqab_ disguise.

It had been her last day of a short break in Afghanistan. She'd just left Bashira's school after another emotional reunion and Qaseem was driving her to his apartment where she was going to meet his mother, when his mobile had rung.

"I'm sorry Molly," he said as the call ended. "I've been asked to do some last minute work. Sometimes I interpret for UNICEF. They've asked me to meet one of their senior people at the US Embassy straight away and interpret for him in a meeting at the Ministry of Higher Education."

"The Ministry is not far from the University, so I can drop you off at my apartment on the way, but it means we'll have to cancel our plans to meet my mother this afternoon."

"Bummer," Molly was disappointed. "I was looking forward to that. I suppose there won't be time now before I fly out tomorrow?"

"No. It's too dangerous to go out at night. Come back and meet her next time. If there is to be a next time?" Qaseem added.

"You know me, I'll always come back to see Bashira."

But Molly sighed as they drove up to the massive fortress-style US Embassy building_. _Coming to Kabul was never easy.

"Can you wait here Molly? I'll collect this UNICEF VIP and be back shortly."

"Okay, _Big Brother_."

They smiled at their in-joke about her disguise. They'd become so used to pretending they were related when she came to Kabul, it came almost naturally.

But Qaseem wasn't smiling when he returned to the car. "Molly, the UNICEF top dog coming along with us… He will be familiar to you."

Molly looked up the great doors of the Embassy where two men stood in the shadowy entrance. One was a middle-aged Afghan, clearly a security guard. Behind him, half concealed by shadows, stood a tall man with dark hair.

As he strode into the sunshine towards the car, a bright flash of sunlight momentarily blinded her, and she felt as if her heart had contracted.

In a second of shock she recognised him. It was the Bossman.

She hadn't seen him for three years, but she felt like she would know him anywhere.

"Charles? No, oh no…" she groaned, still stunned by her bolt of lightening reaction. "It can't be."

"It is," Qaseem replied. "Of all the cities in the world, I never expected Captain James to turn up in Kabul."

"Oh shit." She watched him striding over the Embassy plaza towards her. "What am I going to do?"

He mustn't recognise her. After all that had gone on between them – after the sudden way she'd walked out on him, ending their relationship three years ago – she couldn't face him here. Persuading Qaseem to pretend she was still his younger sister seemed like the best option.

But Qaseem wasn't happy about concealing her, despite her pleas.

"Molly he's not in the army any more and you have your COs permission to be here, don't you? So why are you trying to avoid Captain James?"

"You don't understand Qaseem. And I don't have time to explain it. So please, just do it now and I'll explain it later. For God's sake, _please_?

Desperately, she turned her face away from the car window and pulled her _Niqab_ further over her head so that it created a shadow that concealed her eyes. Her only salvation would be to pretend she was a very shy Afghan girl – too shy to look at him – and reveal eyes that he would, of course, recognise. Looking down, she felt the seat squash as he got into the car next to her. She sensed, rather than saw his face dip towards her and she nodded, keeping her head down so she avoided meeting his eyes.

"A relative of yours?" she heard him ask Qaseem.

How could this be happening to her? She could not believe she was hearing the rich, even tones of his voice.

Qaseem didn't answer and the silence stretched out. Would he conceal her? She held her breath.

"As good as a relative, Captain."

He was not going to give her away. Thank Christ!

The car started and out of the corner of her eye she saw they were leaving the paved embassy compound. She heard the Bossman unzip something and moving her head ever so slightly, she saw from the corner of her eye that he was pulling papers out of a laptop bag. His long smooth fingers were tanned a deep brown and his nails were neatly trimmed and suddenly, from nowhere, she felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him.

Just as she was reeling from this revelation, a faint hint of his scent washed over her, evoking a volley of flashbacks, which leapt into her consciousness. She recalled the time she'd exercised beside him in the little homemade gym at the FOB at the start of their tour. They were becoming aware of each other. He'd pulled off his sweat-drenched, regulation army T Shirt and thrown it over the handlebars of a bicycle where she'd caught a whiff of a wholly male essence that was so intoxicating she just wanted to bury her face in the T Shirt's khaki folds. It was an inexplicable, animal awareness and the memory of it and the feelings it had evoked tore through her.

Drawing a deep breath she forced herself to look away, down at her own hands, where – in horror – she noticed Smurf's ring, worn as always, on the third finger of her right hand.

Oh God, if he recognised it, she was done for.

Hastily she hid her hand underneath her _niqab_. Concealing her identity from him was going to be harder than she thought. Please, _please_, let the Ministry be close by.

Thankfully the Bossman seemed to have other things on his mind. For a while he looked at his papers in silence and then, as if mesmerised, Molly watched him uncap a black, engraved, fountain pen.

She suppressed a giggle. That was the Bossman all over! She (and most of the people she knew) used a cheap, throwaway biro, but even in the dusty confines of a dilapidated Afghan car, he was writing with an elegant ink pen.

She watched, fascinated as italic, black strokes emerged. She recalled the first time she'd seen his beautiful pen strokes, in another world, it seemed, as she watched him writing Rosabaya on her arm in the medic's tent at the FOB. It was the first time he'd touched her and she knew she'd remember the heat of his fingers searing into her flesh forever.

Abruptly he put down his pen and started to talk with Qaseem. "Now I'm not in the army I don't get a chance to keep up with many of the lads from Two Section. You probably know Smurf died in England shortly after we went back.

"_Inshallah_! I heard about that. His mother must feel the loss of both her sons deeply."

"Oh yes, Molly, I mean Dawes, was out here afterwards. I'm not in touch with her, sadly, last time I heard she was still in the army working on health issues in Africa. I heard from her CO that she was doing very well."

He spoke in a disinterested way and his matter-of-fact appraisal poured cold water on the turmoil she was feeling.

Qaseem was silent, so Molly assumed he was nodding his head. She didn't dare lift her eyes to look.

"Kinders has been promoted, he's a Sergeant in Cyprus now. Sadly Major Beck stepped on an IED soon after I we left. He's recovered physically, but he suffered serious post-traumatic stress disorder. He's a bit better now, but is not the man he was."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I left the army three years ago. I've been working for UNICEF since then, travelling mostly between Geneva and New York."

"You enjoy the travel, Sir?"

"It's a funny thing Qaseem. I often find myself thinking about my last tour here. Somehow it seemed to change my life in so many ways."

Molly felt like she could barely breath.

"It was a very intense time, and many things were left unresolved at the end of it, Sir. Truly you must have wished it were otherwise."

"Indeed. But there are things in life you cannot command, no matter how much you wish it were otherwise."

There was a silence in the car and then his voice came as if it was from a distance. "Are we near the ministry now? It seems very busy around here."

"Unusually busy, Sir. I was planning on dropping my uh, cousin off at my apartment on the way, but there are so many people around, I cannot even get there. She'll have to come with us, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry, it was a last minute request, wasn't it. My usual interpreter wasn't available. But I don't imagine we will be there for long. We are signing an agreement today. It's a formality, really."

Molly realised from the direction of his voice that he was looking out of the window. Without thinking she darted a quick look in his direction. If she didn't sneak a glance at him now, he'd get out of the car and she'd never see what he bleeding looked like.

She knew she shouldn't, but there was something faintly hysterical about her precarious situation that made her risk it.

She could only see his profile. His hair was still as thick as it ever was, but there were a few soft streaks of silver at his temple. She took in the subtle lines tracing the corner of his eye. They were new. But the mole above his lip was still there. Tantalisingly still there, she thought, suppressing a secret smile at how she used to lick it with the tip of her tongue. It used to drive him crazy with lust. The memory almost engulfed her with a sharp tingle of desire in her belly.

Suddenly he turned his head to look out of the window on her side and she caught the briefest glimpse of his chocolate brown eyes as she twisted her face away.

She could barely still the sharp intake of breath. Did he clock her?

"Qaseem, does your young female relative speak English? She seems very shy."

"If only she would introduce herself to you. You would be surprised at her English. But as you so rightfully said Sir, there are some things you cannot command, no matter how much you wish it were otherwise."

Oh Qaseem was too wily!

Suddenly they turned sharply and stopped briefly in front of an imposing gate before sweeping into a large courtyard surrounded by buildings.

We are at the Ministry, Sir. I will need your passport for your security pass. Please wait here."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Qaseem walk up to an imposing entrance.

Minutes later the bodyguard got out and, without a word, he disappeared towards the courtyard entrance.

Beside her, the Bossman sighed and they sat for some moments in silence. Then he got out of the car and went to sit on a low wall in the shade.

Even though the car was parked under a tree, in the midday heat it was like a furnace. Under her _niqab_ it was becoming difficult to breathe. Opening the door, Molly became aware of an argument developing at the Ministry's entrance. The sun was blinding. She walked over to an archway in the shadows. The shouting grew louder and then it reached a fever pitch.

Suddenly there was a huge bang and the air seemed to vibrate around her. In an instant, she was thrown face down to the ground. Choking in the dust she moved to get up and then realised she was pinned down.

She struggled and the Bossman said carefully into her ear. "It's a bomb. Do you understand me? Wait out. Stay down."

He had thrown her to the ground and covered her with his upper body to protect her. In shock she lay under him for what seemed like several minutes and even with chaos all around, she could feel her heart beating wildly at his closeness.

Finally the Bossman sat up. He turned her over gently. "Are you alright?"

Molly realised the game was up. He was going to recognise her.

She looked up finally. She saw the polite, but remote concern on his face turn into a questioning look as he glanced into her eyes and recognised her. For a second he stared at her in disbelief.

"Molly?"

"Oh shit."

Disbelief gave way to fury. "What the fuck is going on Dawes? What are you doing in that bloody get-up? And more to the point, why are you here?"

"Bossman..." Her mouth felt dry and it was hard to keep her voice steady.

"I can explain."


	2. Chapter Two: Locked in the Past

_A/N... Thank you to everyone who reviewed, liked and followed the start of 'That's an Order' last week. It was amazing and really encouraging to receive so many positive responses. Thanks also, for the helpful comments about the differences between a niqab and a burka and my poor attempts at including some Arabic, both of which I couldn't reply to directly. They were gratefully received._

_Thanks to Tony Grounds and everyone involved in the production of Our Girl who contributed to develop such interesting characters and situations to play around with._

"I'm not sure I want to hear your bloody explanation, Dawes."

Uh-oh, thought Molly. I knew he'd be angry, but I wasn't expecting him to be this nettled."

Before she could reply, shouting broke out all around them and Qaseem ran up with a guard.

"Sir, there's been an explosion at the front gate. You must both come into the building. It's not safe out here."

Molly turned to run to the gate. "Someone might be injured. I can hear crying. I need to go there."

"Don't be so fucking stupid Dawes. It would be suicidal." The boss gripped her arm like a vice to stop her.

She struggled against him, aware of increasingly curious stares around them.

"He's right Molly," Qaseem said with a quiet urgency. "We don't know what's going on. You don't know who they're targeting."

"And you don't have any medical equipment with you either, Dawes. So what are you going to do? The royal touch? They'd love that?"

Molly scowled at his last, sarcastic comment, but seeing the logic of his point she relented and he let her arm go. She rubbed it resentfully, still glaring at him.

Qaseem hurried them into the ministry as several more Afghan soldiers ran into the courtyard.

At the reception desk a guard stepped forward: "Security cannot allow you further into the building because you haven't been cleared. He gestured to a small guardroom just inside the entrance. "But we will let you wait in here."

Qaseem turned to Charles, "Sir, where's your guard?"

"Good question Qaseem. He disappeared right before the explosion."

"That's not good news. Nobody knows what's happening. It's very dangerous for you. Please stay in that guardroom and don't come out until I come back. Qaseem peered round the door. There's a bolt on the inside of this door so lock yourselves in and don't open it. Don't trust anybody. I'm going to find out what's going on and I'll try to get you out of here as soon as possible."

He looked at both of them as he turned to leave. "I can see you've met properly now. That's a relief."

Molly stepped inside a darkened room furnished with a table and an office chair and unexpectedly, a wall clock in the shape of a wooden chalet. There was also a mattress behind the door and a small barred window, set high in opposite wall. She grabbed the chair and climbed up to look outside.

Behind her she heard Charles bolting the door.

"I can't get a butcher's from this window, Boss, it just looks out onto a high wall."

As she sat down on the mattress she realised she'd called him Boss. Why? He was no longer her Boss Man. They'd split up three years ago and hadn't been in touch since.

"Do you have a weapon on you Dawes?"

She shook her head

"Wonderful! Well we'll just have to wait out and put our trust in the Afghan security forces."

"And while we're waiting, Dawes, you can amuse me by telling me exactly what the fuck you are doing here."

Molly looked up, confused. But he wasn't smiling. He was looking down at her with a murderous look on his face.

She took a deep breath: "It's simple really…"

"Nothing's ever simple Dawes," he interrupted as he straddled the chair. "If it was, we wouldn't be sitting here, an ex-army captain and a serving medic, in this squalid room with bombs exploding outside, and neither a gun nor a first aid kit between us.

"You're right about that, Sir," she started to laugh, then looked at the black expression on his face and changed her mind.

"Well?" His harsh voice echoed across the bare stone walls and suddenly it felt like they were back in Camp Bastion and she was wearing the wrong kit and he was congratulating her for not wearing stilettos."

"I'm on holiday, Sir. I flew in five days ago and with any luck, if this resolves quickly, I'll be flying out tomorrow."

"Couldn't you have chosen somewhere a bit safer for a break, like a beach?"

"You know me, Sir."

"Indeed Dawes, only too well, unfortunately. Where are you staying?"

"There's a small deployment of army medics at the hospital. I'm lodging with them at a British Embassy safe house in the green zone."

"So it is official then."

"Well… not exactly. You see I've taken a sabbatical from the army. They given me a bursary and I'm in my first year studying medicine."

For a second she thought she detected a flash of pride in his eyes, but he made no comment and she decided she must have been seeing things in the gloom. "As it's the summer holidays, I wanted to volunteer for something, so my former CO pulled some strings."

He sighed: "At least you'll be protected tonight."

"That's if we get out of here first, Sir."

"Indeed."

"But you still haven't explained your fancy dress, Dawes,"

"I wore it when I went to see Bashira – I always do. I can't draw attention to her. Her brother came out the rusty last year. We've had to move her twice already to keep her safe."

"If it's so dangerous for her, why do you keep coming back?"

"I can't abandon her." She took a deep breath and looked at him: "I can't forget that I killed her father. It haunts me. I still wake up thinking about it."

His eyes met hers and that long, fateful day on the bridge stretched out between them. It all came back to her in a series of flashes, first hearing about his wife and then refusing Smurf's proposal. She saw herself trying not to cry as they lifted off from Bastion and felt once again, the explosive shock of thunder. She tried to banish the memory of Charles kissing her, even as the sweetness of that moment pushed its way insistently into her thoughts, and then her mind was flooded with the memory she could never forget, of Badrai's glassy, dead eyes as he fell, lifeless to the ground.

She looked up at Charles. She saw despair echoed in his face, as he relived the horror of Smurf's hatred and the unravelling of the operation. And then he looked at her. She felt herself becoming tangled in the brown depths of his eyes. Perhaps he doesn't hate me after all, she wondered.

Almost instantly he looked away and the silence stretched out between them as the minutes ticked by on the clock.

Then he gestured at her niqab; "Take it off."

"Why?"

"Because if I'm going to talk to you, I want to see your face."

She pulled it off resentfully. "Is that better?"

He snorted as if it wasn't.

"You see, I have a problem with you Dawes. I don't trust you. I'm sure you'll understand why. No one has ever treated me the way you did – no woman either before you or since."

He got up and walked to the window. "You walked out without telling me. You left me a note."

He swung round to look at her, with piercing, angry eyes. "But it didn't make any sense to me at all. So I called you but you blocked my number. I left you messages, but you didn't answer them. Bloody hell, I even went to your home, but your mother wouldn't tell me where you were."

"It was a spineless way to end a relationship. And, in case you're wondering, it was three years ago, so don't flatter yourself. I don't care about you any more."

Molly flinched at the cruelty of his words.

"All I want now is to know the truth, about why you left."


	3. Chapter Three: The Getaway

A/N Apologies to everyone for the rather messy uploading of Chapter Three. I had to delete it because of formatting problems in the text. Thanks also to everyone who reviewed last chapter. It's been really encouraging to read such nice words… I hope you enjoy this chapter too…

"All I want now is to know the truth, about why you left."

"I had my reasons," she answered, defensively staring straight at him. "I told you at the time."

"What, that pathetic note telling me you couldn't get over losing Smurf? How his death made you realise how much you still loved him? Come on Molly! After everything we'd been through together. I didn't believe that note for a second."

She turned away from his accusing eyes, wincing at her obvious deception. But no matter how unreasonable, how flimsy her excuse, she knew she could never tell him the truth.

"You're not even going to tell me now, are you?" he said quietly.

What was the point of telling him now? They'd both moved on and had other relationships. It was over.

"Some things are best left in the past".

She swallowed and looked away. She didn't want to see his reaction. He was right. It was a flimsy excuse. And lying to her CO went against years of army training. Granted, he wasn't in the army now. Years before, at the FOB, she had been insolent with him and got away with it, because of the attraction between them. But the incident on the bridge had changed her attitude forever. That dismal day had taught her, to never, ever disobey her CO, ever.

"Don't think I want…" he broke off, glared at her and turned to the window as more shots ran out in the distance.

Molly sighed. It was just her fucking good fortune to be locked up with him, a man she'd once loved, a man who now despised her. It was better not to talk. And it was better not to argue in this hot, airless room where there was no water to drink. Who knew how long they'd be there for? She picked up her phone. There was no signal, but a message was waiting from Jackie, her old RAMC mate from Helmand. She thought about replying. But what could she write? 'Hey Jack... you'll never guess what…' Actually, she thought ruefully, Jackie knew her pretty well. Molly's current predicament wouldn't surprise her at all.

After a long silence he turned round from the window.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have behaved like that." He rubbed his forehead. "I wish I knew what the fuck was going on outside. My security guard has pissed off and I don't know why. Perhaps he's involved…"

She looked up, concerned. No matter how she felt, they needed to keep calm if they were going to get through this.

He bit his lip in a visible effort to get his emotions under control and changed the subject: "How are your family Dawes?"

"I don't really know, Sir. My father kicked me out around the same time as you and I…" her voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Molly. Why?"

"Bangers, Sir."

"What?"

She saw his deeply furrowed brows and realised he didn't have a clue what she was talking about. They didn't even speak the same bloody language!

"He wanted my deployment money and I gave it to someone else."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you still in contact with your mother?"

"No. She has a hard time with him and she's got young kids to mind. She doesn't need the additional heartache."

She half laughed and checked it with a wistful smile: "You see, I thought he'd come round in a couple of months. I never, ever thought he'd hold out for this bleeding long! He told me I was dead to him. He obviously meant it."

"I see you were dealing with a lot at that time, Dawes."

Molly rolled her eyes theatrically. "You don't know the half of it, Sir. Anyway, there's nothing to do about that now. I still see my Nan and keep in touch with my sister. The army has kept me going and now I'm at university I've got loads of good mates. I couldn't wish for more."

She didn't want him to feel sorry for her so she changed the subject: "What brings you to this hellhole then Boss?"

"I'm here with UNICEF. I negotiate water programs with governments for their sanitation program. It's a small thing, but close access to good water can save a child's life."

"You're not wrong there. When I was out in Africa with the RAMC, some of the woman had to walk two miles to their nearest water source."

"It's a long way to go, back and forth - too long. Families, particularly children suffer needlessly. A village well can make a significant impact."

He sat down on the mattress next to her. The tension had dissipated. Somehow it felt relaxed between them, like the old days, when they had talked over issues at the FOB and found an understanding of how to deal with the problems that faced them.

"Talking about children, how's Sam?"

A brilliant smile lit up the Boss Man's face. "He's growing up into a great young boy. We have a lot of fun in the holidays when he comes to stay with me in Geneva."

"Geneva? Sounds like a girl's name. Where's Geneva then, when she's at home?"

He grinned. "In Switzerland, on the edge of a lake surrounded by mountains. And she's a beautiful city."

"Why are you living there?"

"It's where my job is based – at the headquarters of UNICEF."

They both jumped as a man came and banged roughly on the other side of the door. He shouted out in Pashto and then they heard whispers.

Neither of them spoke. Charles pointed to her niqab and she pulled it over her head.

Another man shouted, this time in broken English: "Please, please, Mister. Open up this door."

There were at least two men on the other side. She caught Charles' eye as he put a finger to his lips.

The shouting continued for a few moments and then she heard the sound of a key being inserted roughly into the lock.

Charles moved swiftly to stand behind the door, his body tensed, ready to strike at the first sign of danger.

She held her breath as the key turned and the lock clicked. The door remained shut. Thank God for the bolts! After a few minutes the shouting ceased and the footsteps retreated.

For a long time they stayed in their places, silent and alert, signalling to each other at the sounds they heard. Then when it was clear no one remained outside, Charles came back to the mattress.

"That was too close. We're pretty vulnerable here, Dawes. I hope Qaseem's getting somewhere with an exit plan. How the hell are you going to get out of Kabul?"

"You shouldn't worry about me. Under my niqab, when I'm with Qaseem, I'm in little danger. You're the problem!"

He laughed. "The Ministry should protect a UN official – if it can. You bloody well won't smuggle me out hidden under one of those things, even if John Simpson 'liberated' Kabul in one." At her frown, he changed the subject: "Where are you studying Dawes?

She removed her niqab: "At Bristol University."

"That's a good university. It's also not far from Bath."

"Is it? I never realised that!"

He shook his head and smiled. "I'd forgotten you don't know your arse from your elbow, Dawes."

"Well, if it's not in East London, it might as well be on the other side of the world."

"Are you enjoying it?"

The course is really interesting. It's tough, but I've surprised myself, and I found I really love science… bonkers, I know!" She giggled at his smile. "I can't quite believe it either!"

"In the beginning I couldn't believe they'd let me in so I spent the first term panicking in the corner of the library. Then I got some decent marks and I realised I could have a bit of fun too. It's been a real laugh this last half year. The other medics are just mental."

She was startled by a sudden whirring sound behind them. They whipped their heads around in unison, their finely tuned sense of danger on full alert. A bright pink cuckoo burst through the window in the heavily lacquered chalet clock to tweet three o'clock.

It was so incongruous they burst out laughing.

"Thank God it's just a bird," he grinned with relief. "I thought something dreadful was going to happen."

"I thought something pretty dreadful did happen!" She giggled; "How come one of those sodding monstrosities is hanging here in a guard room in Kabul?"

Somehow it had broken the all the tension between them.

"They're Swiss aren't they? Hey! I bet you've got one hanging in your lounge, haven't you, Sir?"

"Well, since we're alone, I can confess, a secret ah, attraction for Swiss cuckoo clocks, and I have an impressive specimen adorned with milkmaids and mountain goats in my drawing room. But that's classified, Dawes." He grinned in the dim light: "Breathe a word to anyone and you'll be in serious trouble!"

"Trouble?" Was he flirting with her? Somehow she managed a mask of innocence: "What trouble, Sir?"

Talk about trouble! If they kept on going like this, in a minute she'd be in big trouble.

Abruptly a machine gun blasted outside. It was followed by an eerie silence and then there was a lot of shouting and someone screamed.

He leapt up on the office chair to the window, trying to see was going on.

"Bollocks! That was close." She tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

"I still can't see anything. There's a lot of smoke out there though. Something must be on fire. This is not just an explosion, Dawes." He jumped back down and sat back on the mattress. "The situation is deteriorating fast."

The air seemed to chill around them. She whispered: "Are we going to get out of here?"

His voice was low: "I don't know."

In the gloom their eyes met, tired, apprehensive and intense.

He seemed to lean down towards her. At first she wasn't sure, then she felt his hand on her arm. She looked down at his long fingers curving round her shoulder and watched them trail up to toy at the base of her neck. His bare fingers on her sensitive skin sent an arrow of pleasure darting through her.

She kept her eyes down. She was too nervous to look up, too uncertain of what she might find. Then he whispered her name and she turned to look at him directly with huge, hesitant, green eyes. He was watching her, the beginnings of a slight smile playing on his lips, as he bent his head towards her. Then his lips met hers and she felt sensations bathe over her. Her lips parted under his gentle insistence and she was lost in a whorl of pure desire. He seemed to kiss her forever and when he drew back, in the dim, smoky light, she could see his eyes were still ablaze with passion.

"Why did you do that?" she breathed, raggedly.

"I wanted to see if there would still be magic… whether I would still enjoy it," he answered unevenly.

"And did you?" Still stunned by the kiss, she realised her voice sounded wrong and somehow needy. She tried to lighten her anxiety with a slight laugh.

He frowned as he heard it and his smile dimmed. He dropped his hands and sat back on the mattress: "It's different, isn't it? I mean kissing someone when you're no longer in love with them." He spoke slowly and then leaned back against the wall. "Don't you think?"

An insistent banging on the door bought them both back to the present.

"Open up, Sir. It's Qaseem!"

Still dazed by his kiss, Molly grabbed her niqab as Charles pulled back the bolts and let Qaseem and two women in.

One of them stepped forward: "Captain James, I am so sorry that our meeting has been interrupted. I'm afraid we are now going to have to postpone it altogether. But please, let's not discuss that now." She handed him his passport. "I have arranged for you to return to UNICEF in a secure ministry car."

She looked without interest at Molly and then turned to Qaseem. "This is your relative, is it? My assistant here will arrange a taxi for you both. You can pick up your car later."

She turned back to Charles and moved towards the door: "You will have to leave by the back entrance as the front one is currently… unavailable."

"Thank you. But Qaseem and his relative must come with me."

"No," hissed Molly even as she saw a stubborn look settle in Charles' eyes.

The woman looked sharply from Molly back to Charles: "I do not think we have the resources to permit that."

"I came with them and I will not leave without them," Charles' voice was uncompromising and Molly could see the woman wavering under his firm stare.

She turned to Qaseem: "Where do you need to go to?"

Qaseem looked to Molly: "The Cure International Hospital?" Molly nodded in reply.

"That is south of the city. This car cannot go there. The driver is going west, to drop Mr James off at the UNDP office. If you like, you can catch a taxi from there."

"All right then." Qaseem's tone was quietly insistent. "He can drop us off at my house by the Zoo. It's on the way."

The woman nodded: "Now please follow me. We must hurry."

Qaseem fell in step with the Boss Man as they ran through the ministry's corridors to its back entrance: "I will make sure Molly gets to the hospital and on to her plane tomorrow, Sir".

More shots rang out and a group of women shrouded in burkas rushed past them, their voices raised in panic.

The Boss Man nodded: "I don't like it. But I can see we can't argue about the arrangements now."

They piled into a sinister looking, unmarked car with darkened windows, which took off with a screech from back entrance.

"What the hell's going on Qaseem?"

Qaseem turned round in his seat.

"It's not clear, Sir. Someone has attacked the Ministry of Finance just down the road. People are saying a Northern warlord is responsible. The problem now is that fighting's broken out around the Radio Television of Afghanistan office, which is also close by. That could change everything."

"A coup?"

"It's possible."

The driver muttered, stepped on the accelerator and skidded through a red light round a corner. The swerve sent Molly lurching right across the back seat and straight into Charles' lap.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded as she scrambled hastily back to the other side of the car, her niqab twisted around her.

In front of them a man stepped into the middle of the road and raised his assault rifle.

Boss Man shouted: "Watch out, he's going to fire."

"Get down, get down," Qaseem yelled.

Molly crouched in the foot well. She heard the shot and the windscreen shatter and then the car swerved dangerously towards the pavement, hitting something and jamming to a halt.

Blood pouring from his arm, the driver frantically tried to start the car again.

The ignition clicked, but where the motor should have roared into life, there was just a sick, whining sound.

"Car broken," he shouted in panic. "Get out, get out. Run!"

Molly peered over the headrest. She saw the driver jump from the car and disappear down the street.

Oh, bleeding Christ! How the hell were they going to get out of this?


	4. Chapter Four: A Bumpy Rickshaw Ride

_A/n Apologies to everyone for the delay in updating, due to RL and a busy Easter holiday._

_Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing _That's an Order_ especially those who have been following from the beginning. Some reviewers have written some really lovely comments. It's so nice to get them and respond to them and I'm sorry to the few that have disabled private messages that I can't get back to you too. That's a shame._

_Anyway, here it is, the much delayed... but hopefully enjoyable Chapter Four._

"Get the fuck down Dawes," shouted the Bossman. "Qaseem, check the glove compartment. Any weapons?"

"Two pistols, Sir."

"Can you shoot?"

"No, sir, I never learnt how to fire."

"Pity." He grabbed them and handed one over to Dawes. "Be bloody careful with this, Dawes. Don't fire unless you have to."

Molly nodded, her heart thumping.

"You don't need me to tell you that the army could kick you out if you got caught up in anything here."

"Yes Sir."

"Now let's get the hell out of here. Dawes, your door's the most concealed. That's our exit. Qaseem, open your door as if you're going to get out, then follow Dawes. It may confuse them and give us some time. I'll follow you both."

Within seconds they were running down the road looking for a side street. Molly kept tripping over her long coat. She was desperate to get rid of it, but she knew she'd be exposed without it.

She saw a side street and then a face peering round the corner. It was their driver, beckoning them to follow him.

"Quick, this way."

They followed him down the street and into an alleyway, where a young boy was hastily piling boxes into a small, gaudy, motorised rickshaw.

A door was open in the wall next to the rickshaw and the driver beckoned them into a courtyard. Behind her the Bossman checked as he rounded the corner. They hadn't been followed so far. For a few minutes they'd be safe.

Inside there was an air of panic and confusion. An even younger boy was chasing cocks into cages; two had already escaped and were crowing wildly, their feathers fluttering fear into the hot, airless courtyard. Two women in burkas were hastily tying bundles onto the back bars of the rickshaw and an elderly man was siphoning what smelt like petrol into a few, mismatched containers.

Ignoring the activity, Dawes went straight over to the driver to examine his arm. Fortunately the wound was superficial. "It's not serious," she said smiling at the driver. "But, I need something to stem the blood flow until you can get a proper dressing." She looked round for Qaseem but he was urgently talking to the rickshaw driver.

"_Manana_ – thank you," the driver said gratefully. He unwound his turban, ripped off an end with his teeth and handed the piece over which she used as a bandage.

"Try not to move your arm much. And don't delay getting to hospital to get it properly seen to."

"Dawes, bring that pistol here, I need to check it." She looked over to see the Bossman taking cover at the back of the house. As she ran over, he gestured beside him.

"Get into position. We can cover both the compound gate and the back of the house from here if we need to."

"Boss."

He unloaded the pistol, and methodically checked the chamber, removed the magazine, stared down the barrel, tested the safety cap and dry fired. "It's clean, and it will have to do for the moment." He handed it back and looked up at her.

"Are you okay?" He spoke quietly and with all the noise going on around them, she had to lean in to hear him.

She looked up, straight into brown eyes full of concern: "Yes Boss. But what now?"

"We can't stay here for long. Let's see if Qaseem can get us a ride out on this rickshaw."

She looked doubtfully at the colourful three-wheeler meticulously painted with a hectic frieze of mountains, eagles and flowers. "Beautiful it might be, but will it get us anywhere?"

"We don't have a lot of options, at the moment, Dawes."

Qaseem hurried over. "That's the driver," he explained pointing to the old man. "It's his own rickshaw and he's moving his family out temporarily because of the situation. He's willing to take us, I think, but we'll need to give him enough money."

"Will he take dollars?"

"Yes. The question is, how much. We need enough to get him to take you but not to ask too many questions."

The Boss reached into his wallet and pulled out some dollar bills bills. "You will know better than I, Qaseem. Use your judgement."

"Sir."

Qaseem's negotiation seemed to work. Within minutes Molly was sitting on the sandy floor of the rickshaw pressed between the stacked cages of squawking birds and the petrol containers. The Ministry driver was concealed among cardboard boxes on the passenger seat. Next to him the Bossman was busy adjusting a gap in the canvas backcloth to make a lookout.

"You cover that side and the front Dawes. I'll take the back and the right. And watch those petrol containers."

Molly nodded. "I'm down low, but I've got a good vantage point. Sodding cocks, though. They're trying to peck at me. I hate 'em," She flicked her fingers against the cage of one particularly aggravated bird. "What the fuck do they need to take the birds for?"

"They're fighting cocks and too valuable to leave behind," answered Qaseem as he wedged himself in the front corner by the driver's seat. "And I have a feeling our man is up to no good." He nodded towards the old man who was sitting in the driving seat and yelling into a mobile phone.

The boss whipped his head round in concern: "What's going on Qaseem?"

"He appears to be leaving because he is related to Mashid, a Northern warlord. The guards in the Ministry thought Mashid was probably responsible for the bombing."

"Oh, bleeding marvellous!"

"If he's running away now it doesn't sound like his relative's making much progress," said the Bossman. "Let's make this ride short and sweet. Where can we get off that's safe?"

"My apartment," answered Qaseem. "It's a couple of miles away. We can telephone for assistance from there."

The driver stopped shouting into his phone and called out to his family. At once, everyone climbed on board; the two women wedged themselves next to Molly and the young boys swung joyfully up onto the roof.

The driver turned on the engine. It coughed and choked and sounded appallingly loud within the confined space of the courtyard.

"How fast do these things go, Qaseem?"

"Not fast enough, unfortunately. It's a three-wheeler so if we go too fast it will turn over. Hold on tight everyone."

"You bet Qaseem. I'm fucked if I'm going to end up in a cage with those Richards."

Chewing out black smoke, the rickshaw swung out of the alleyway and back onto the side street. Molly breathed a sigh of relief when she realised it was completely deserted.

"All clear at the front, Sir, she shouted back to the Boss. "Nobody's around."

"Same at the back," he tossed back.

They raced up the street and swerved back onto the main road.

"Ministry car's on fire, Sir," Molly yelled. "But the street's deserted."

Keep your eyes peeled for the gunman," he shot back. "He won't be far away."

The driver raced past the smoking car, swearing. He grabbed his mobile and with one hand pulling erratically on the wheel he punched in a number with the other.

Oh here we go, thought Molly, I'll be tossed in bird shit soon.

At the next crossing the driver pulled the wheel frantically round the corner, taking it so fast that one of the back wheels left the ground. The rickshaw twisted side ways at an alarming rate and the petrol cans rolled all over the floor. The older boy on the roof slid down the side, saving himself at the last minute by grabbing a rail. At the sight of his helpless swinging legs, one of the women screamed. Molly felt a hand grab her niqab and the force pulled her head back. She realised the older woman had nothing to hold onto, but she couldn't let her grab onto her niqab, if anything happened, she'd lose it fast. She guided the woman's hand to the rail beside her and they smiled at each other briefly before hitting a series of bumps that seemed to jar all the bones in her back. Christ, this was going to be a painful ride.

"Molly, look out, there's a CP ahead." The engine was so noisy the Boss was practically shouting in her ear. "Who's manning it?"

She saw a hastily erected barrier manned by very young boys grappling some ancient looking AK47s. "Doesn't look official, Sir," she yelled back. "It's controlled by kids."

"We're fucked,"

"It looks that way, Sir."

Either way, she thought, noting Qaseem talking urgently to the driver, we're screwed. If it's a government CP and they identify this warlord's relative, then we'll be arrested. If its a rebel group and they see the Boss, that'll be the end.

And whatever happens, she thought as she cocked her pistol and concealed it under her clothes, I couldn't fire at little boys.

The rickshaw slowed before the barrier and the kids looked at them uncertainly. The driver shouted at them and they looked around for help. No one came out and eventually they raised the barrier obediently. Thank fuck, thought Molly.

Then the shouting started. Two men staggered out from a nearby house. One hurried over to the barrier gesticulating at the young boys. The barrier wobbled for a moment and then dropped back down. The other man approached the rickshaw firing questions at the driver. From his angry replies, it didn't sound like the driver was being very cooperative. The man shouted back at him and suddenly it became very tense.

Any minute now, Molly thought, as her hand tightening on her pistol, they're going to look inside and see the Boss. She took a deep breath and looked around wildly for a diversion.

Then she felt a hand on her arm. Turning behind her she met the determined eyes of the older woman. She let go of Molly's hand and pointed a finger at the birds. She watched as the woman stretched a bony hand down to the door of the first cage. Molly nodded imperceptibly and lifted a shaky finger underneath the catch of another cage. She was so close to the woman she could see the outline of a small smile forming under the thin folds of her pale blue burka. She smiled back and simultaneously they flicked the catches and opened the cage doors.

The first cock fluttered straight into the face of the man questioning the driver. Bingo, thought Molly. The second and third flapped round inside the rickshaw squawking loudly and causing chaos.

Within seconds both Afghan women were doing a magnificent job of appearing to try to catch them, but were actually shielding the Boss from view. Despite the obvious tension, Molly found it hard not to giggle. She lifted another catch and a bird fluttered past her head towards the checkpoint. The driver looked back, incredulous and bellowed out a wounded yell at the loss of his birds. Then he put his foot down. The rickshaw lurched forward. In seconds they'd crashed through the barrier and were racing down the street.

Molly heard shouts behind them and then silence. She struggled to poke her head out of the side of the rickshaw, while one of the cocks beat its wings ineffectually by her ear. Looking back, she saw the one of the men push the kids away as the other raised his gun to fire.

"Incoming. Get the fuck down."

As she ducked her head back in she heard a smattering of shots.

She turned round to check the occupants. In front of her Qaseem was directing the driver round another corner, the women were crouching on the floor. They seemed okay. There was no way to check the boys on the roof. She swiveled her head behind to look at the ministry driver and the Boss. He had his back to her, still covering the back of the rickshaw. "Boss, are you okay?"

"Fine." He turned round. "You?"

She grinned. "That was too close."

"Bloody good work Dawes. Qaseem, how far to your home?"

"Just round this next corner, Sir."

Incredibly one of the cocks was still flapping around in the rickshaw. She shouted: "Someone get this squawking tosser of a bird out of my face." And beside her the older woman coolly grabbed it and stuffed it back into its cage where it clucked in outrage.

They smiled at each other again and the woman raised her hand under her burka. "High five?" she offered shyly.

"You bloody bet." Molly clapped her muffled hand under the burka and they burst out laughing.

The rickshaw swung round the corner and skidded to a halt outside Qaseem's apartment block. Molly was relieved to see the boys jump down from the roof. Returning her gun to the driver, she turned to the older woman. "Good luck! Don't take no shit from anyone, especially those birds." Unexpectedly they exchanged hugs and then the Bossman grabbed her hand.

"Cut the chatter Dawes," he pulled her out of the rickshaw and flashed a brilliant smile of relief. "We don't want to be caught on the street here."

Still gripping her hand, he followed Qaseem up the stairs two at a time while she raced behind him trying to keep up.

They reached the fifth floor, euphoric and breathless, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the cramped hallway while Qaseem unlocked his door.

"That was a smart move to let out those birds," he whispered softly in the dim light. "When those men came out at the CP, I thought it we were done for."

He let go of her hand, and reaching up and pulled the ties holding her niqab loose. It fell off her face and into his hands.

"You probably saved my life, Molly." Uncertain, she met his serious eyes. Then he reached down and touched his lips to hers.

It was such a brief, light kiss, Molly thought for a moment it hadn't actually happened. She looked up at him again, confused.

" 'Thank you' seemed inadequate, in the circumstances," he said, answering her unspoken question as he handed back her niqab and followed Qaseem into the apartment.

"Right, Qaseem, where's your phone?" Qaseem pointed to the telephone and helped him connect to the UN. Within minutes the Bossman was talking to a UNICEF official.

Qaseem turned to Molly. "We have a saying in Pashto. _It's not enough to have luck. You need the intelligence to use it_." He gave her a big, bear hug. "Thank God you used it at the checkpoint. If you two women hadn't released those birds, we might never have survived. Insurgents usually set up those kinds of unofficial checkpoints in the countryside. They're really dangerous. There are killings at checkpoints on a daily basis all over Afghanistan. I've not seen one in Kabul for a long time though. Those men were opportunists."

He turned on the television. "The government channel's back on and covering the situation. That's the good news."

Molly frowned: "And what's the bad news?"

Qaseem concentrated for a moment as a map appeared on the screen. "Parts of the city to the south are still blocked off by fighting. It doesn't sound as if you'll get back to the hospital tonight."

At her sigh he tried to console her: "Don't be despondent, Molly. Situations like these can change very quickly." He moved towards the door. "I'm going to get Captain James an afghan shirt to wear. The less Western he looks, the safer he'll be."

Dawes looked over at the Bossman. He had the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder and he was watching her. He smiled as she looked at him and she felt little sensations of joy fluttering through her.

Qaseem returned with a long, white embroidered shirt as the Bossman got off the phone. "Would you like to try this _kurta_ on Sir? I think it will help. It will not convince anyone close up, but with your jeans, and from a distance, you will look like a fashionable, young Pashtun around town."

Charles laughed: "Not so young, anymore, Qaseem."

"He needs a turban Qaseem." Molly was joking.

"You're right. I have a black one that might do."

Qaseem left the room as the Boss started unbuttoning his khaki shirt. He was standing with his back to Molly and as he pulled his shirt off. She found herself drawn like a magnet to the arresting sight of his broad shoulders, and was unable to look away. He was still as lean and powerfully built as she remembered, and at the sight of his bare flesh, a ripple of desire hummed through her.

He turned around unexpectedly and caught her looking. Her eyes seemed to clash with his and for a long moment they gazed at each other. Then a photograph fluttered out of the pocket of his khaki shirt and fell onto the floor. It broke the spell between them and Molly looked hurriedly away.

"You've dropped something," Qaseem bent down to pick the photo up as he returned with a black turban.

"Is that really you, Sir?" He peered at the photo and put it on the table before unfolding the turban.

Charles looked over as he pulled the white shirt over his shoulders: "With the hair and fake cigar? Yes it is."

Molly glanced at it. It showed the top two images from a passport photo set that had evidently been torn in two. There was the boss looking relaxed and handsome in black tie, sporting an incongruous silver Afro wig and sucking on a huge cigar. Next to him stood a beautiful woman in oversized, glittery, star-shaped glasses with her head on his shoulder. In the first picture she had a comic pout on her face as she blew a kiss to the camera. In the second shot she had evidently been kissing the Bossman's cheek when the camera fired.

He followed the direction of her glance. "It was taken at a UNICEF party in Geneva, just before I came to Kabul. That woman's a colleague, a member of my work team." He frowned. "I didn't know I had that photo. She must have slipped it in my pocket before I left."

Inside, Molly felt floored by a pain that she didn't understand. She pushed the feeling away and shrugged at the Boss as if a picture of another woman kissing him meant nothing to her.

"That's a great wig, it suits you – gives you a sense of humour."

It came out all wrong, sounding like she was trying to be catty. She tried again: "Your colleague looks like a laugh though. Musta been a fun evening."

She walked out of the room feeling cross all of a sudden. Why was the Bossman kissing her while he was carrying this photo of another woman around in his pocket?

She went into Qaseem's bathroom and splashed water over her flaming face.

Minutes ago she'd been feeling euphoric, but now she felt defeated and overwhelmed by an emotion she didn't understand.

Why? Why? Why? She asked herself, as the cool water dripped between her tense fingers, when I've just been chased through Kabul, escaped from a checkpoint and been shot at, should I be upset by a stupid photo now?

She slapped more water on her face as her mind raced to make sense of what had just happened.

Whoever that woman is, she's probably got the other two photos. And God knows what they were doing in those ones. She's probably one of the women he'd talked about in the guardroom. Well, why not, she admonished herself. He's still bloody good looking and when I was working for him I fancied the pants off him. She probably does too.

And she's much smarter than me… smart enough to stick her photo in his shirt pocket when he goes away, while I on the other hand, was stupid enough to pack my bags and run away.

Oh God! Why do I mind about this? I don't still care about him!

She stared at herself in shock, as the realisation that she did care about him, took hold. She tried to deny it, but it kept returning like an insistent clear, cold dewdrop in her consciousness that burst over her stunned body until she was flooded by the revelation.

I still love him, she admitted, finally, to her reflection.

She felt tears sting the back of her eyes as she remembered how he'd humiliated her after their kiss in the guardroom.

Molly glared at her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror, trying to stop crying.

Oh God, what a mess! She slumped against the wall in pain as tears began to flow.


	5. Chapter Five: Back on the bridge

Thank you again, everyone, for all your kind comments and nice reviews which really help during frustrated moments... It's taken a bit of time to finish this chapter which takes us right back to the bridge. Molly's got some explaining to do... I hope you enjoy.

"So tell me. What is going on between you and Captain James?"

Molly looked over in surprise at Qaseem sitting cross-legged on the other side of an ornately carved low table. It was just the two of them now. The Bossman had already left for UNICEF in an armoured UN car and she was waiting for a British army unit to return her to her safe house.

"Molly Dawes. I know you well. Remember, I was at the FOB with both of you. Your fellow soldiers thought you were in love with Smurf. I never understood why you didn't discourage them in that belief. Perhaps you were hiding something?"

At her silence, Qaseem set down his glass of _chai_ and chuckled: "We Afghans knew otherwise. We could see there was something between you and Captain James."

She could see there was no point bullshitting him. "I was well and truly busted, huh?"

"Busted?" His eyebrows rose. "What is this word? Caught out?"

She nodded: "Well you were spot on. It was never Smurf. He thought it was, but Captain James was the man for me."

_And he still is_, a voice inside her obstinately insisted.

She sighed. Why did things have to be so bloody complicated? An hour or so earlier she'd sat desolate on Qaseem's bathroom floor, shedding tears over the shock revelation she was still in love with the Bossman.

But the salted memory of that photo in Charles' pocket punctured any hope they could get together again. It also stopped her musing on why he might have kissed her.

_Molly Dawes, you are not going to waste your time necking some tossing Rupert who's pissing around with someone else_, she'd ordered her miserable reflection.

She'd dried her eyes, forced her feelings down and returned to Qaseem's lounge loaded with an excuse for her bloodshot eyes, steeling herself not to succumb to his magnetic charm again.

And indeed the Bossman had been so preoccupied on the phone; he hadn't even noticed her shiny nose and vulnerable spirit. In fact, he'd been annoyed. Having been informed there were no circumstances under which a UNICEF car could be used to take Molly Dawes anywhere, he had been busy locating an old Sandhurst friend, a Major currently based in Kabul, to talk him into ferrying her back to her safe house under British army protection.

Just thinking about it made her sigh. A hundred years ago she supposed she might have been faintly flattered at his effort to protect her. But his bleeding old school network way of doing it just rankled.

She wondered what favours she could call in from her old mates at Lister. A packet of fags? A _tiddly_ at the Denmark? I s'pose some of them might have something useful to offer – if I ever got banged up!

Her mind drifted on to the awkward moment the Bossman had left Qaseem's apartment for UNICEF. As he walked to the door wearing Qaseem's black turban and white, embroidered shirt she thought he had resembled nothing so much as a young, clean-shaven Afghan, who was far too bloody attractive for his own good.

She shivered as she recalled eluding his intense farewell gaze, which she returned with just a fleeting glance before whirling away from his confused frown and pulling out her phone, as if she'd just received a message. She'd kept her eyes down until he couldn't hear him any more. When she'd looked up, the room was empty.

In her mind she felt a small victory at regaining her self-control. But her heart ached at the defeat. She knew he wouldn't contact her again.

Qaseem offered her an apricot from a copper bowl, gently bringing her back to the present. "So what happened between you and Captain James on that tour?"

"It feels strange talking about it now. I've never told anyone else." Molly laughed: "But then nobody else has ever challenged me! You're more perceptive than the boys from two section, Qaseem."

"By the time we returned to Bastien, I knew I was in love with the Boss, and I suppose he was with me, but he insisted on waiting out till the tour was over. He was a real stickler for regulations."

Qaseem nodded his approval.

She smiled: "Waiting was bloody hard, I'm telling you. Then, hours before we went on the last mission – to catch Badrai – Smurf came out with this mad proposal to marry me. It was his mother's doing, I think. She was so afraid of him dying, and so wanted him back home, I think she felt if he got married, he'd leave the army and settle down."

"Smurf even asked the Bossman's permission. Bossman told him to wait. But Smurf asked me anyway. I found it really hard to say no. Not because I loved him – I didn't of course – but because he was becoming increasingly unravelled." She shook her head at the memory. "He was under so much pressure, I think, by that time."

"I don't understand. What was all this pressure you talk about?"

"The Taliban killed Smurf's brother. His death was the reason Smurf joined up and came to Afghan. But remembering Geraint, he distrusted every Afghan he met."

Embarrassed by her old mate's racism, she took a sip of _chai_. "That part of him was horrible, but you could understand it a bit if you knew that it was all in anger at his brother's killing."

"And as the tour went on, his mother increasingly couldn't take the worry. I met her when I was home on leave. She was a desperate, lonely, single mother. She was terrified Smurf was going to die, and she was already breaking down by then, I think. Her anxiety made it far worse for him."

"Then, moments before the shootout on the bridge, Smurf found out about the Bossman and I. He felt betrayed. That's why he lost it on the bridge, and everything went belly-up."

She blinked away her tears. "Sorry Qaseem. Seeing the Bossman again has brought it all back. It all feels like it happened yesterday."

He smiled kindly while Molly wiped away a tear.

"Smurf should not have been there." Qaseem shook his head: "You were all protecting him, his mother, Captain James, you. Too many people were taking responsibility for him and he was acting like a kid."

"You know, I'd never thought about it like that." She looked down at the uneaten apricot in her hand. "It's true. But the shooting taught Smurf a lot. Afterwards, he was so sorry, so devastated and… so decent about it. He knew I loved the Bossman. Everyone else thought Smurf and I were together and I never denied it."

"Ahh. Now I understand. He provided cover."

"Yes! And then he died and that's when it all got out of hand. Suddenly, his mother wanted me in the funeral car with her and I found out everyone thought of me as a grieving… well, practically his widow."

"Including Captain James?"

"No. We had already got it together by then. But no one knew about that. He was my former CO and he'd recommended me for a Military Cross. We were waiting till his resignation came through before we went public as a couple."

"But then somehow Candy – Smurf's mother – found out about us. She wrote me two really raging, pissed off letters. She felt betrayed, I think, felt that I'd lied to her, dissed Smurf's memory – or worse, cheated on Smurf with the Bossman."

There was a silence and Molly recoiled as she brooded over the vitriol in Candy's letters.

Qaseem put a reassuring hand on her arm: "She was a woman embittered by the loss of both of her sons."

Molly nodded: "She rang Kinders. I don't think he'd had any idea there was anything between the Bossman and I and well, he was shocked."

She faltered at the memory of the embarrassing exchange she'd had with Kinders: "Well, I have to say, from the outside, it looked bad."

"Candy told him she was going to kick up a fuss about my MC, inform the Army that I didn't deserve it, that the Bossman had only given it because he fancied me."

"No." Qaseem shook his head. "Whatever she thought, that isn't Captain James' way. He is an honourable man. And I was there when you went through that minefield to rescue Smurf. That medal was rightly awarded."

"I think the medal business scared Kinders. When soldiers are awarded medals, there's a full-on vetting procedure. Everybody involved is questioned to make sure the award is deserved. Well by that time Major Beck was out of action, and the Bossman was on his way out and I think Kinders was shitting himself. He thought he would be implicated if any investigation uncovered an illicit relationship."

"None of this could have been easy for Captain James."

"He doesn't know about it," Molly halted, caught in guilt as she saw Qaseem's eyes widen in disbelief. "I… uh… I never told him."

"I freaked out." Looking down she found herself winding her fingers round and round the fringes of the carpet she was sitting on. She released them and took an awkward breath. "I dunno, Qaseem, somehow I felt I didn't deserve the MC. I thought of myself as a stupid East End girl who'd skipped school. I had just joined up and I had hardly completed my first tour." She stifled a hollow, deriding laugh. "And even that had ended in disaster."

"You blame yourself for what happened on that bridge?" Qaseem frowned: "You were never responsible for that. Instead of blaming yourself, being fearful, you should be confident in your considerable ability, Molly."

She managed a small laugh: "Now you really sound like a teacher! But I wasn't only bricking it for me; it was for the Bossman too. He'd been badly injured, and was struggling with a new civilian life. He didn't need the stress of an investigation."

"So I backed out of the relationship. I reassured Kinders, I told Candy we weren't involved and I left the Bossman. Honest, I mean, I ran away. I sneaked out of his house when he was at physio one afternoon and left him a note. I didn't see what else I could do then."

"And now?"

"I don't think the Bossman forgives me for leaving. Even if he knew, I don't think it would change his mind. People tell me I'm ballsy and can stand up for myself, but when it came to it, I couldn't. I was too scared."

"Now, I think I'd have handled it. I feel more confident, more able to defend myself, but then, well, I just gave up on the Bossman, because it was the easier thing to do."

_"Oh, what a tangled web we weave. When first we practice to deceive."_

"What?"

Qaseem explained: "It's a quote from Sir Walter Scott."

"Who's he, when he's at home?"

Qaseem laughed, "You're still the same old Molly Dawes." He left the table and scoured a bookshelf, returning with a slim volume. "So that is why Captain James was apoplectic when he discovered you playing hide and seek under the niqab this afternoon. I wondered why. If he hasn't forgiven you for leaving him perhaps he cares for you… like you still care for him?"

Molly avoided his eyes: "I don't think so, mate."

"Does he know now, why you left him?"

"I've never told him. Perhaps Kinders has, although I doubt it. I mean, what's the point Qaseem? It's so long ago, now. We've both moved on. I don't think he'd understand really. He's such a confident person. He'd never have let Candy bully him or separate us like that. He'd have found the right thing to say to her, to calm her down. "

"So he doesn't know. And that's why you were trying to hide from him today. Now it all becomes clear."

She smiled at him sadly.

"You know, he will also be upset with me for concealing you. We had a good working relationship when he was in the army. There were not many British Army officers that we Afghans respected. We also trusted him. Captain James was almost unique in that regard."

"I'm sorry Qaseem, I didn't think about that. I just panicked."

"Don't worry. We are men and we will resolve this."

A mosque started its evening call to prayer and she looked out of the window. The sun was setting behind the Hindu Kush, the mountain range that fringed western Kabul. Its russet beauty was reflected in the river that poured through the city and the balmy evening air was filled with jabbering, gossiping, and noisy squeals.

"They're feeding the macaques. It happens every night. Some nights it's so loud, it's hard to concentrate." He sighed. "You know, Molly Dawes, sometimes you have to ignore the chattering around you, not let it disturb you from doing the right thing. Focus on the things that matter." He looked at his watch. "Captain James' friend will be here any moment now to pick you up. I've something to give you, before you go."

He opened the book, scrawled a message in the front cover and handed it over. It was called _Poems for Life_ by Laura Barber. "This is a good introduction to poetry. Pick it up and read a few poems when you have the time, it will enrich your life."

He paused and then said casually: "Captain James is fond of poetry. He studied literature at university."

"How did you know that?"

"We used to argue about the First World War poets during quiet evenings at the FOB."

Molly opened the book at a random page. She read aloud: "_To his Coy Mistress. _This is by a geezer called Andrew Marvell. Mmm, sounds interesting!" She frowned. "Hey, I'm going to need one of those dictionary book things just to understand this one."

"I've can lend you a 'dictionary book thing' too."

Molly looked up and smiled: "I'm taking the piss. I've got a dictionary, I even bought it to Kabul." She flicked to another page and read quietly.

"This is more like it. It's by a bloke called Ogden Nash." She giggled.

_Reflections on Ice-Breaking…_

_Candy_

_Is Dandy_

_But liquor_

_Is quicker._

"I like this one, Qaseem. Reminds me of my jager-bomb soaked, old, East London days, before I joined up!"


	6. Chapter Six: Reunion on the Beach

It must be the right road, thought Molly as the second signpost for Bosherston flashed by. Hopefully she wouldn't get bleeding lost again – it was already after 7pm and she'd been driving in what felt like a heat wave for hours in bank holiday traffic. Well it seemed like hours anyway. Much of that time had been spent stopping to squint at the tiny map on her phone and swearing at herself for skipping Geography at school.

She was excited about the 2 Section reunion, even if it was at some bloody obscure beach in the middle of nowhere. They were staying at a cliff-top inn in Pembrokeshire, with its own private beach; close to a sea sports activity centre that Nude-Nut worked at. He'd promised them some abseiling and climbing. Not that Molly was going to do either, but now she could swim she fancied trying out sea kayaking, which was also available.

It had been a few years since she'd been able to come to a reunion, mostly because she'd been on tour. A couple of times Bossman had turned up and she'd wriggled out of it at the last minute, but this year, Brains said he was going to be in New York and at the last minute she'd decided to come as a surprise.

It would have been super-awkward to see him after that day in Kabul. She cringed, recalling those intense, difficult hours together in that hot, airless guard hut at the Ministry. "And why," she asked herself out loud "Oh why did you have to be such a fucking idiot and bloody well kiss him, not only once, but twice?"

She'd berated herself about this so frequently since the incident two months ago, that she'd almost forgotten it was actually him who had kissed her. And as time went on and he didn't get in touch, she'd got more pissed off with herself. Of course he wasn't going to get in touch. "What a surprise? Why would he?" she asked no one in particular. He was probably too busy chasing his starry eye'd _colleague_ around the world's UNICEF offices.

Too late she saw and missed the sign for _The White Hart Inn_ and had to reverse back down the road to get to the entrance.

'Too bloody busy thinking about rubbish as usual, Dawes," she told herself as she parked in front of a 18th century inn on the cliffs.

She'd hardly dragged her Bergen out of the car when she heard Bas Vegas yelling behind her.

"I thought I heard someone reversing all the way down the road! Lads, look who it is. It's Dawsey."

There was a general yell and suddenly she found herself in the middle of a 2 Section scrum as they all rushed up to hug her.

"Dawsey, you said you couldn't come! What happened?"

"I got away at the last minute, Brains."

"Fucking great," shouted Dangles as he gave her a great bear hug. "For the first time ever, everyone's here."

"Yeah, well I know it's nice to see me, but can you bleeding get off me Dangles, or you'll crush me."

The men stepped back and Molly looked up to see Kinders and Captain James walking towards her.

What the fuck? Molly's mind whirled in panic. What's the Bossman doing? He's not supposed to be here! She took in his strained face as he recognised her and then it hit her – he'd only come at the last minute because she wasn't supposed to be there! Oh Christ!

"Well this is a surprise Dawes. I thought you weren't able to come."

The Bossman seemed to recover his composure with a dutifully paternal smile, which Molly returned with some difficulty."I managed to get off early, Sir."

Their restrained formality seemed to silence the group.

"No need to call him _Sir_ anymore Molly," said Kinders as he gave her a brief welcome hug. "Now he's out of the army he prefers _Charles_".

Molly swallowed a small smile and fortunately Dangles saved her from replying.

"Have you booked a room Molls? The hotel's full but Bas, Mansfield and I are camping in the garden." He pointed to two tents pitched in the garden. "You can bunk up with us if you like."

"Oh I'm devastated. I can't believe I've paid for a room when I could have been sleeping on the edge of a cliff, next to Mansfield's dirty socks!"

"Oi," Mansfield protested. "My feet don't stink. My wife told me they smelt sweetly."

There was a general shout of disagreement.

"Are you sure she didn't mean sweaty?" laughed Brains.

"She still left you though, Mansfield. Didn't she?" taunted Fingers.

"Aw, take it easy on the ginger lad, Fingers mate, he's still hurting about that." Kinders gave Fingers a friendly warning punch and picked up Molly's Bergen. "I reckon the QM's missing some gear! Why don't you check in and join us down on the beach Molly. We're having a barbecue there tonight. Mansfield's bought a ton of sausages with him."

"They're big, thick, pink Cumberland specials. I made them myself, Molly," Mansfield announced proudly.

"Yeah, and I've had one already. They're the wurst!" shouted Bas Vegas to a volley of groans.

Why the hell has the Bossman come? Molly grumbled as she sank onto the bed in her room. She frowned as she remembered his half-hearted smile when he'd greeted her. Obviously he was as delighted to see her, driving through the gate, as she was to find him already hanging out here.

Delighted, she scowled as she pulled on pair of jeans. My arse!

What a bummer! How the fuck was she going to stay out of his way for the next two days and avoid any awkward encounters? Her best bet was to conceal herself among the boys, act flashy and confident, do a little piss-taking of her own and not give the Boss the chance to speak to her alone. And she could rely on the boys, with their constant piss-taking to keep everybody joking.

Thank God for the lads. They were such a laugh, even though sometimes, it could go a bit far. She frowned as she recalled Fingers taunting Mansfield about his marriage break up. Fingers had always been hardcore and since he'd started working in Kabul as a private security guard, he'd got even tougher.

Anxiously she made her way down the steep cliff path to the beach where the boys were hanging out in the evening sun. She couldn't see the Bossman. She wandered over to the barbecue where Mansfield and Brains were preparing supper.

"Oi, I thought you were a veg, Mansfield," she teased as she pointed to a massive pile of sausages, chicken thighs and burgers blistering on the barbecue. "What's all this… _meat_?"

"Never touch the stuff Dawsey, not since that horror breakfast at Bastien," Mansfield looked up with a grin. "But my uncle's a butcher and when I left the army, he offered me a job in his shop. There weren't any other jobs around Derby, so I took it. Now I make sausages for other people. They tell me my bangers are the dog's bollocks, but I've never tasted one myself. He pointed to a pile of dry looking nut burgers. I'm eating these veggie burgers instead."

"The dog's bollocks?" Dangleberries wandered over. "How grim! I think I'm going to stick to chicken."

"Are you stopping in Newport on the way home too Molly?"

"Newport? What that shit hole? Dangles I've already stopped there once. That was more than enough?"

"We're going to have lunch with Candy, Smurf's mum and visit Smurf's grave, You know, have a drink with old _Sicknote_."

Oh Christ! This whole bloody reunion thing was getting out of control. How was she going to get out this one, considering Newport was on the drive back? She hadn't been in touch with Candy for three years now. There was no way she was going to turn up in Newport after she'd received those letters.

"I can't Dangles," She hoped she'd put on her best disappointed face. "What a shame. I've got to get back to Bristol, I've – uh got another exam on Tuesday."

"What, you're not coming with us to Newport, Dawsey? Mansfield looked shocked. "I'd have thought, being Smurf's bird, you'd be beating down the door to Candy's."

Molly raised her eyebrows but she kept her voice light and teasing: "Now, what made you think that I was Smurf's _bird_?"

Mansfield stopped turning over burgers and nudged Brains. "Am I being thick or what? Wasn't there something going on between our Molls and Smurf at the FOB?"

Brains kept his eyes down as he tried to rescue a sausage he'd just dropped in the coals. "I dunno," he said noncommittally. "Perhaps we were wrong."

Dangles turned to her, "Are you serious, Molly? You mean you and Smurf were never a hot little item?" He gave an exaggerated frown. "That's not what he told us."

Molly was beginning to feel irritated. Dangles knew well there had been nothing between Smurf and her in Afghan, and he was only teasing her, but Mansfield was like a broken record. She screwed up her eyes in frustration. "God. He was my mate. And that was it. There was nothing more, whatever he told you."

As she spoke, a long shadow fell across her face, blocking out the casual warmth of the evening sun.

"Evening Charles," she heard Brains say.

Molly's eyes flew open. He was standing on the other side of the barbecue, watching her guardedly through whorls of smoke. She dropped her eyes under his sharp-eyed suspicion.

"We're teasing our favourite female fighter about her ex-boyfriend Smurf and you know what? She's just said there was never any hot action between them. I think it's a load of bologna! Wha d'yer reckon, Boss?"

Oh bleeding great. Whatever size feet Mansfield had, he'd just put a pair of size twelve's in it.

"Oh, I never rely on anything a woman says." The Boss was smiling as if he was telling a joke, but she could tell from the slight strain in his voice, that he was wary. "Believe them at your own peril, Mansfield."

"Spot on Bossman! That's what I've always thought," agreed Dangleberries too readily. He gave Molly a treacherous wink, and turned back to the Boss, all virtue. Do you want a sausage Sir? Apparently they're the dog's bollocks. He lifted a pink sausage off the barbecue and innocently swirled it through the air. Mansfield made them personally. They're just about ready."

"As his former CO, I'd like to support Mansfield in his new career, but I think I'll pass on this occasion, thanks. And less of the _Sir_, Dangles." He turned towards the beach, lifting his T Shirt over his head. "I'm going for an evening dip. Any of you cockwombles care to join me?"

Yay-eah! I'm up for it! Dangles shouted out enthusiastically. "Brains, Mansfield, you coming?

"Nah, I've got to keep an eye on the barbecue. You go with Brains. Molly will help me here, won't you pet?"

"Molly, don't suppose you're…" Dangles trailed off uncertainly.

"No you're right. I'm not going to get my kit off in front of you perv's."

The two boys raced to follow the Bossman to the water, flinging their clothes off onto the beach and diving carefree into the spray.

"Are you all right Dawes? Mansfield came over to where Molly was standing, mortified and angry.

Oh God! She felt furious, with Dangles, Mansfield, Bossman and mostly with herself for being caught out, being inconsistent about Smurf. What must the Bossman be thinking now? Why couldn't she have just kept her big mouth shut like other people managed to do? "Yes, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Sorry I asked." Mansfield was taken aback at her sharp tone. "But you look all red. Like you've caught the sun or something."

Molly put her hands up to her cheeks. They were still pretty hot. "Must be… the heat from that pissing barbecue you're murdering animals on Mansfield".

She sounded more irritated than she meant to. But Mansfield had already stopped listening. He was busy shouting at the rest of the boys as they leapt between the waves, their wet bodies shimmering like seals in the golden light of the evening sun.

"Get a load of the muscles on you, Bas Vegas. Look Molls, he's so brawny since he started running those boot camps."

Molly was hesitant. She didn't want to be caught peeking, but her eyes seemed to be on a mission of their own, gliding past Bas Vegas' surprisingly burly chest to Charles' lithe beauty. He was standing with his back to her, pointing out swifts' nests high on the cliffs to Brains. Easily the tallest of the group, unlike Bas, who was now bulky or Kinders, who'd always been chiseled, he was still as lean and athletic as he'd been in Afghan. Briefly she took in the arresting sight of his bottom as he jumped up energetically to catch a volley ball and then she forced herself to look away.

She turned towards the cliffs, and walked away from the swimmers, along the beach until their carefree whoops were no longer carried on the wind. The sun was burning low on the horizon now, bathing the beach in a rich rosy light. Swifts swirled over her head, speeding out of their nests to dart out to sea, and she wished she felt as free, instead of constrained and angry.

Baffled by disappointment, exhausted from the long, hot drive, she dropped onto the sands, feeling the grit slide into her hair and the salted smell of the sun-washed beach waft over her as she lay down.

It was just unfair that she was already shaking, overwhelmed by fury and desire, while he was coolly playing volleyball in the buff and seemed hardly to notice her?

You've got to move on, Molly, she berated herself as she stared at the darkening sky. Find yourself some young, hot medic at university, have some fun and laugh your way out of this misery. And while you're at this reunion, focus on your old mates a bit and stop mooching around looking for miracles. Your relationship with the Bossman is history.

A/N Thanks for continuing supportive comments, which I always enjoy reading... For those who wrote about how much they like Qaseem, I have to agree with you, there was something special about him and they way he talked was somehow almost lyrical. He was one of my favourite characters in the series too. I hope he'll be back with the next one!


	7. Chapter Seven: On the edge of a cliff

Molly stood at the top of the cliff gripping her harness and trying not to think about the moment she would have to walk over the edge. She'd been pissing scared of abseiling ever since she'd done it on her basic training, but she was fucked if she was going to let the boys know that – they'd scorch her all her way down, if they did.

"Right, you pissheads," said Nude-Nut, with a big smile on his face. "Focus up. We've set up two static ropes so we can go down in pairs. I'll go first, with Dangles. Mansfield, you're next, paired with Kinders, followed by Brains and Bas Vegas, then Molly and the Boss, and finally, Fingers and our instructor, Mike."

Her and the Bossman? Oh bleeding marvelous!

"It's about 80 foot of reasonably smooth face and a good beginner's rock, so there's no need for anyone to go arse over tit, like they did in basic, right Brains?"

"Gawd. Don't bloody remind me!" Brains said in an undertone.

There were a few sniggers, then Nude-Nut continued: "When we get to the bottom, Mike will show Kinders and the Boss some tough sea cliff climbing and the rest of us will paddle round the coast in kayaks to an awesome beach, where we'll have a picnic and take a gentler walk up the cliffs to meet our climbers at the top."

"Right, you ready, Dangles?"

"Yep. Lezgo, Nudey."

Molly watched the boys disappear over the edge, and in no time at all, it seemed, it was her turn. She tried to ignore the lump constricting her throat and the light, tingling feeling on the soles of her feet as Mike helped her complete her safety checks.

"Right Dawes. Set to go over?" Charles looked at her, challenge in his eyes.

She stared back at him, refusing to reveal her fear. "When you're ready, Boss."

His lips twitched with a hint of a smile and she knew he'd seen right through her.

"Don't worry Molly. I'll be right beside you on the left hand rope." He reached out with a reassuring hand: "It's an adventure, you should enjoy it!"

"Who's bricking it Boss?" she challenged, as she summoned up the bravado to walk backwards over the ledge. "Not me."

He followed her to the ledge and smiled, a genuine beam of encouragement that curbed her fear. She smiled back and for a moment she forgot they were standing right on the edge, and it was as if they were back in the FOB.

And then they were over the side and there was nothing underneath her except 80 feet of air. She started going down fast and in seconds she was way below him.

"Slow down Molly, slow down."

Jesus it was fast!

"How do I stop it," she yelled back as the cliff rushed passed her.

Nude-Nut's voice floated up from below: "Grab the rope and wind it around your arse to lock the descender."

She reached out to grab the line and halted abruptly, swinging in space, inches away from the rock, her muscles tensed and her whole body tingling.

Seconds later Charles was next to her. "Are you okay?" He looked concerned.

"I'm more than okay." She was breathless from the fear and thrill of it. "I hated abseiling in basic. But, fuck me, this is brilliant!"

Her nerves were singing when they reached the bottom.

"In a rush, were you Molly? You came down like shit out of a goose!"

"Too right Nude-Nut!"

She was still grinning when she got into the kayak with Fingers. Then just as they were about to push off, she realised she still had her watch on.

"Oh bollocks. I've left my watch on. I don't know whether it's waterproof."

Nude-Nut came up to have a look. "A watch that's not waterproof? That's about as useful as tits on a bull. Is there anything written on the back?"

"Yeah. A message from my nan."

"Give it to Kinders or the Bossman to look after. Here, don't get out of the boat. I'll take it over."

Nude-Nut ran over to Charles: "Bossman can you look after Dawsey's watch please? She doesn't know if it's waterproof."

Brains looked round: "Not waterproof? Where's it from?"

"My nan gave it to me. I dunno where she got it. Probably from the market."

"It'll be swiped then, if I know your nan," announced Fingers.

Brains' raised his voice: "Charles! That watch is hot. Don't burn your fingers!"

"Are you trying to tell me Dawes' watch is stolen?" he said in an exaggerated tone of mock horror.

"No Bossman," protested Molly. "My nan gave it to me."

"Exactly!" shouted out Fingers.

"Oi you cheeky bugger!" She flicked water playfully over Fingers with her paddle. "You'd better watch out. I'm right behind you and I'll give you a good dunkin'."

The Bossman turned the watch over and read the engraving on the back.

_There is a time for work and a time for love. That leaves no other time._

He grinned at the unconventional inscription and the irony of Molly's grandmother giving her a stolen watch for her 16th birthday. How different from his 17th birthday, when he'd received his grandfather's Rolex Oyster, justly engraved with his grandfather's name and birthdate. He put Molly's watch carefully in his pocket and the thought of her grandmother choosing that engraving kept Charles amused as he and Kinders followed their guide over the first sea climb.

At midday their guide left them confident enough to tackle routes on their own and they started up a tall, narrow sea stack. It was a cold climb at first, but half way up they emerged from the shadows to crawl up a hot, bright rock where the sun warmed their muscles and they could hear the sound of cool sea water splashing over the base of the rock far below.

Reaching the top, Charles stretched over and grabbed a jutting rock with his long fingers. He reached out with his leg to get a firm grip and pulled himself on to the top of the stack, where Kinders was lying, spread eagled, staring up at the sky.

"Rest up for a bit, Boss?"

"Oh yes. That last stack was a bugger. Stop for lunch?"

"Great view for it."

They ate sandwiches in companionable silence staring out at the Atlantic Ocean swirling round the jagged coastline. Far out in the distance Charles thought he could make out the shimmering shapes of two ships coming in from the horizon.

"So Boss, how come you and Dawes crossed paths in Kabul?"

"By accident." Charles smiled: "Actually it was swords we crossed…"

Kinders laughed. "Boss, I don't like to imagine. She's still one of the feistiest girls I've ever known. I dunno Charles, you're a brave man."

Charles swung round to stare at Kinders. But his ex-corporal carefully avoided his glance, craning his neck to follow two seagulls flapping in the opposite direction.

Charles considered Kinders' last comment and decided he had nothing to lose. "Since you've already alluded to Dawes and I, there's something I'd like to ask you."

Kinders looked over, his eyebrows raised, the beginnings of a smile on his mouth: "I was wondering if you'd ever mention the subject of you and Dawes!"

A/n Thanks again, everyone for your lovely reviews, it's always reassuring to know that you are reading my writing and some of you are enjoying it too! I started this chapter quite a long time ago and every time I came back to it it just got longer and longer. In the end I divided the chapter into two - chapter 7 here and chapter 8, which I'm posting at the same time.

Finally, a message for the reviewer who questioned Molly's lack of self esteem and confidence - it's not always easy to pitch it, so your question was helpful. I feel she started out so far behind Charles in terms of education and position, it's difficult not to still be on the back foot. She will becomes more assertive in time...


	8. Chapter Eight: Looking out to Sea

Charles looked surprised: "Well, it seems like this is the moment."

He cleared his throat: "When I was in Kabul, I heard an extraordinary story. It was about an argument between Smurf's mother, Candy Smith and Dawes. I heard Candy had accused Dawes of disrespecting Smurf's memory."

"And?"

Damn Kinders, he was not making it easy.

"I also heard Candy had approached you?"

There was another silence.

"Is there any truth in it?"

Kinders sat up. "Candy did call me a few months after Smurf's funeral. She was hysterical. She, well we, were under the impression Molly had been Smurf's girl. She told me a story about seeing Dawes in the street. According to her…"

He broke off and took a nervous sip from his water bottle: "Well this is a bit embarrassing Sir, since you are a stickler for regulation and it appears to involve you…"

Charles pursed his lips: "I was your Captain, Kinders, but I'm not infallible. We all make mistakes. But I'd rather know what happened before I cock it up tomorrow with Candy. It's important I support her, I was the officer in command of her sons, and they've both gone."

"I can't imagine that, Sir. My little boy, he's only six months old. But if anything happened to him…"

There was a silence as they looked out over the sea and contemplated what it must be like to be Candy.

Charles could make out both ships clearly now, with their masts and sails spread before the wind, heading for shore.

Kinders continued: "I got a hysterical phone call from Candy a few months after Smurf's death. She told me she'd seen Dawes and you embracing each other in the street."

"I kept asking her if she'd got it wrong. But she was adamant and… devastated. She claimed there had been tension between you and Smurf in Afghan over his relationship with Dawes." Kinders paused and asked carefully: "Perhaps you were trying to tell him to back off until they got home Boss?"

Charles didn't respond, so Kinders continued.

"Candy claimed you had charmed Dawes away from Smurf. 'Seduced' – That was the word she used. She was furious. She had expected Smurf and Dawes to get married; at the funeral she'd treated Dawes as if she was one of the family, her son's fiancée. She felt the pair of you had disrespected her son's memory. I didn't take much notice of that. But then she told me she intended to call the Royal Military Police to tell them that Dawes' Military Cross was undeserved, that you only rewarded her because you were sleeping with her."

"I'm sorry Kinders. That must have been very awkward. What did you do about it?"

"I could see an RMP investigation would be difficult for all of us. There was the shoot out on the bridge, which to be honest, didn't bear close investigation, in my view. You were leaving the army injured and needed a clean record to start civilian life. Major Beck was and is still in no fit state to testify for anyone. Dawes had only been on one tour, she'd made a brilliant start, but she wasn't well known at that point. Without you and Major Beck, she'd have had few senior officers able to support her."

Charles began to see Kinders' point of view. In any investigation, Kinders' word would have been pivotal. He would't have wanted to testify. No soldier wants to go against the word of their CO and risk gaining a reputation for being disloyal, as it tends to follow them around wherever they're posted.

"Whatever happened between the three of you, I thought it had nothing to do with the RMP. Dawes deserved that medal, which she got for saving Smurf's life. Removing it would have just been unfair."

"But I couldn't persuade Candy. So I rang Dawes. I told her what was going on and suggested that whatever had happened, she ought to get in touch with Candy to reassure her, and do it quickly. I told her I didn't want to know if there was any truth in Candy's accusations, I just wanted her to sort it out. It would have been embarrassing if people had started asking questions. Dawes told me she'd deal with it. I imagine she must have, as neither she nor Candy has ever mentioned it again."

Kinders' words hung awkwardly and then faded into the sea air.

Charles was quiet for a long time. When Qaseem had alluded to Candy's astonishing demand, he hadn't quite believed it. He'd been inclined to feel there had been a misunderstanding, somewhere, something lost in cultural translation. But Kinders' disclosure was astounding.

He sat for several moments recalling the precious days he'd shared with Molly that summer. It was hard not to think about them without also tasting the bitterness of their break up – the reason why, most of the time he avoided thinking of her at all.

He remembered their falling in love had been in a series of magical, heady moments; the warm weekend they'd cycled round the old city canals in Amsterdam; the unlikely day they'd found a dented French horn in a builder's skip and spent hours blowing it, sky-high with happiness and stupid with laughter; the affectionate evening he'd sat squirming – yet secretly pleased – as she joyfully exchanged entertaining stories about him with Justin, his oldest friend from prep school; the night she'd hung back, hesitant, as he introduced her to his mother; and the thunderous moment he'd realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, sitting alone in the quiet mists above Tintern Abbey.

He'd spent the last three years despising her for casually throwing away something so momentous and meaningful. Now he just felt confused; torn between regret that she'd had to deal with Candy's accusations on her own; admiration for her quiet, stoic handling of the situation; and then utter fury at the way she'd caved in to Candy's insistence without telling him. Would she have been able to withstand such pressure alone? He doubted it. She had balls – there was no doubt about that. But at that time she was too new a recruit, too unfamiliar with army procedures, and too junior in the army hierarchy to risk such exposure.

But why, oh why the hell hadn't she come to him? She hadn't needed to protect him. He could have defended them both, if only she had bothered to tell him about it. Damn it! He thought their relationship had been worth defending! But, after all this he had to wonder. Had she ever felt the same?

He lifted his head back to the horizon. It was no surprise that Molly didn't want to go to Newport. Were the aftershocks of his relationship with her, of Smurf's death ever going to end?

He turned back to his former corporal who was quietly looking out to sea, clearly wishing he was anywhere but the top of this sea stack. He felt a flash of indignation. Why the fuck didn't Kinders tell him? Why the hell had he had to wait three years to find out, for God's sake?

But beyond the anger he knew Kinders wasn't to blame. And not only that, he, Charles also had some explaining to do. There was only one way to deal with it now. That was with complete candor.

"Did Candy say where she'd seen us?"

There was a long pause before Kinders replied: "Some of her friends had taken her on a daytrip to Bath to cheer her up." Kinders' reluctance to continue was so obvious Charles winced. "It was in the Royal Crescent."

"I'm sorry Sir," he added quietly.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Kinders. You and I both know that my family lives in the Royal Crescent"

"Yes, Sir."

"And that was where I was staying at the time."

"I thought so, Sir."

Charles looked down onto the water crashing against the rocks far below. The two ships were turning to go round the coast below them now. Sailor's shouts drifted upwards, carried by the wind as they adjusted their rigging.

"Well, as you've already worked out, there was something between Molly and I. I fell for her at the FOB. I can't answer why it happened. I was in the middle of a divorce and she was an irritating, mouthy newcomer who started out like an itch and somehow, I don't know how, got under my skin." He grazed his thumb over her watch in his pocket and smiled, remembering her brilliance.

"I was dazzled by her bravery, her willingness to take issues on and get involved and before I knew it, she was dangling dangerously from a helicopter and I was falling in love with her. It didn't take long to realise she felt the same way. Well I don't have to explain how intense life is out there. You know it yourself."

Kinders conceded with a nod.

"But I was determined not to let feelings interrupt the good workings of our unit. Two Section was – is still – something special. I was resolved to wait out till we got home before we started anything. Dawes was finding that difficult to cope with, she didn't understand fully why – probably due to her inexperience – and in addition, she was sitting in on the US interrogations to find Badrai, which was undoubtedly tough for her. And then Smurf came to see me. He revealed he was in love with Dawes. He wanted my permission to ask her to marry him."

Kinders let out a low whistle. "Tricky. I wouldn't have wanted to be in your boots then, Boss. What did you do?"

Charles sighed. Sometimes he still found himself weighing over the events of that day, unconsciously seeking out a more effective response – anything that could have changed the day on the bridge.

"I told Smurf to wait until he got to Brize Norton – ironically what I was desperately trying to do myself. Perhaps it would have been kinder to give him my blessing and let him ask her, but I wasn't confident enough that she'd refuse. Most of all I just didn't want to be dealing with any of it until we came home."

"It was a God-awful situation. On the day we went for Badrai, I made the fatal error of trying to reassure Dawes. Smurf saw us together and, well, you saw his reaction and the resulting shoot out with Badrai on the bridge."

"There are some people who would say being injured, like I was, was a lucky escape. I was airlifted out of the mess, barely alive and pretty useless, and you and Dawes were left to deal with the after action report. But I didn't feel that way. I felt intensely responsible. It was my watch and I blew it. The mistakes I'd made were so elemental I could barely stomach it. The only thing I could do to make it better was resign. That way I'd never again be in a position where I could fuck up so badly and put other people's lives at risk."

He was silent for a long time and Kinders realised for the first time that his former colleague and friend had been shouldering an enormous burden that he'd known nothing about.

"I always wondered how you squared it with Major Beck. By the time I'd come round in Birmingham, you and Dawes had answered whatever questions needed to be asked. Wading in at that point to hold my hand up and confess would have undoubtedly eased my burden of guilt. But then an investigation would have been inevitable and yours and Dawes' reputations would have suffered. I was out of it, and so was Smurf, why make life difficult for you two, who hadn't done anything wrong?"

"Dawes had done more than enough to deserve her Military Cross. So I kept my mouth shut, resigned my commission and then quietly got together with Dawes. It was an awful year. Just about everything else – my marriage, my career, my health – had faltered and then Smurf died. Dawes and I remained tight, close all through that period of Smurf's untimely death and her second tour and then suddenly, about five months after Smurf's funeral, she disappeared, walked out of my life and it was all over."

"She left a note claiming she realized was still in love with Smurf, and she couldn't be with me any longer. I suppose that could have been true. But after everything that had happened, it didn't ring true."

Charles paused, wondering how much he should confide in his former Corporal, of the agony he'd felt; his initial disbelief, his frantic attempts to contact Molly, and when that failed, the dull pain of accepting she'd gone. His mind drifted back to that autumn after she'd left, when he felt lost in a helpless, angry, drunken haze. He smiled sadly; less was definitely more in this case.

"After a while I stopped trying to work out why she'd gone and focused on building a new life. I started working for UNICEF, moved to Geneva and left Dawes, Smurf, the army and Afghan behind."

"So when did you hear about Candy and Dawes?"

"The night after I met Dawes in Kabul. I spent the evening with our old interpreter Qaseem and he who told me. At first I didn't believe it. But he'd earned a reputation for speaking the truth when he'd worked for us in Helmand and he'd heard it from the horse's mouth herself, Miss Molly Dawes."

Kinders looked embarrassed: "I'm sorry Boss. Perhaps I should have called you, rather than Dawes, when Candy first contacted me?"

"I don't blame you Kinders. I imagine that if you had called me, we'd have had to deal with it officially. You kept it under the radar, which was the best thing for everyone. And you're not responsible for any of it. It was my mistake and I paid for it, one way or another. Poor Smurf might have paid the ultimate price. Dawes has gone on to do really well. I'm pleased for her."

"You're too hard on yourself, Sir."

"It's nothing compared to the way I feel about Candy. It was a disgrace that she got away with such manipulative behaviour. She must have taken leave of her senses."

Kinders let out a low whistle: "Tomorrow's going to be pretty awkward then."

"Yes. I can't pretend I was looking forward to it and now I'd like to haul her sorry arse over hot coals, to be honest, but Smurf's anniversary isn't the moment for that. But really, what can I say? I wasn't technically in a relationship with Dawes, but even not being in a relationship was enough to have affected the events on the bridge and possibly contributed to Smurf's death. The only thing I can do is remind her that Dawes went through a minefield to save Smurf and then talk to her about interfering with Dawes and threatening her army career. And I will bloody well do that, believe me."

"But not tomorrow?" ventured Kinders.

"Let's see." Charles put away his water bottle and looked down at the ships. One was disappearing around the headland. The other was meandering in the opposite direction.

"And what about Molly?"

Charles got up. He didn't have an answer to that question, so he decided to ignore it: "Shall we go on to the next climb?"

As they belayed down the stack, the other members of two section rounded the nearest point in their kayaks. The wind dropped and Molly rested her paddles on her kayak. God, she had aches in places she didn't know had muscles. She'd been paddling round points and small bays for hours now and it had been fun, but now she just wanted to stop.

"Are we nearly there now?" she shouted over to Nude-Nut who was leading the way. "I'm bloody knackered."

"See that stretch of sand over there? That's where we get off."

"Thank Christ," she breathed, leaning back to rest her shoulders on her kayak. "Fingers, you might have to carry my arms along with the paddles. I'm not sure I can, anymore."

"Look, there's Kinders and the Bossman coming down the face of that stack."

Dangleberries raised his voice: "Yo, Kinders mate, what an almighty big crack!" His taunting voice echoed all over the cliffs, followed by bellows of laughter.

Jammed in a chimney high up on a sea stack, Charles heard the shouting behind him.

He saw Kinders lean out and flick two fingers in the direction of the sea. He guessed his old mates from two section were shouting obscenities from their sea kayaks and he felt a warmth spread through his body as he realized that Molly must be down below.

Charles relaxed his back against the side of the chimney and unexpectedly laughed out loud at Dangleberry's joke. For the first time in years, he felt content. The thrill of danger, the intensity of the climbs they'd done had definitely contributed to that feeling. But somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he felt calmer, less angry than he had for a long time. He was beginning to understand that his relationship with Molly had failed for some colossal reason that had little to do with either of them, and he was already wondering what he might be able to do about that.

* * *

A/n There is a bit of naughtiness in the next two chapters, so I'm going to have to rate them as an M. Instead of re-rating the whole story, and sending it to the M section, where it's much more difficult to find, I'm going to try to rate just those chapters. Anyone who is following the story should be directed to Chapters 9 and 10 automatically, but if you are not following it and instead of reading some smut, you arrive straight at Smurf's graveside, then the smut is in the M rated section of the Our Girl site.


	9. Chapter Nine: That's an Order

_Hi everyone,_

_Some of the characters from_ **That's An Order** have given in to temptation and been a bit naughty ... so Chapter Nine has had to be re-rated for smut content and sent over to the smutty side.

_Rather than send the whole story to the smutty side, I've tried to re-rate just the offending chapter and link it up to the main story._

_To access this chapter, please go to the filters section on the Our Girl front page of the FF site and selected 'Rated: M'. You can find then find the chapter in the story called_ **That's an Order on the smutty side **_which contains only the naughty chapters._

_If that doesn't work, please let me know and I'll message you the link directly._

_Sorry for any confusion this causes. And as always, thank you for your messages, follows and favourites. I hope you enjoy the next chapter._

_Dance_


	10. Chapter Ten: A Rediscovery

_Hi everyone,_

_Some of the characters from_ **That's An Order** have given in to temptation and been a bit naughty ... so this chapter has had to be re-rated for smut content and sent over to the smutty side.

_Rather than send the whole story to the smutty side, I've tried to re-rate just the offending chapter and link it up to the main story._

_To access this chapter, please go to the filters section on the Our Girl front page of the FF site and selected 'Rated: M'. You can find then find the chapter in the story called_ **That's an Order on the smutty side **_which contains only the naughty chapters._

_If that doesn't work, please let me know and I'll message you the link directly._

_Sorry for any confusion this causes. And as always, thank you for your messages, follows and favourites. I hope you enjoy the next chapter._

_Dance_


	11. Chapter Eleven: Candy's Confession

"Still another half hour to Newport," Brains announced to the slumbering occupants in his car. There was no discernible response. Dangles, Mansfield and Bas were sleeping off the effects of an all nighter, sprawled across the back seat. Charles was unusually unresponsive with his eyes closed in the front seat. Brains frowned. It was unlike the Bossman, especially since he'd left the pub early last night.

Charles was awake but drifting somewhere between carnal reverie and conscous misgiving. His mind kept returning to the arresting image of Molly, lying naked between his sheets, a secret smile lighting her face as she savoured the pleasure of their recent coupling. If only he could could stop the image there.

But that was before he'd cocked it up by losing his temper in the shower. It had all gone downhill between them after that. After showering separately they'd walked along the grassy cliff to the pub. A gloriously hot, midsummer day had turned into a clammy evening, a dusky new moon suspended on the smoky horizon, sending soft slivers of light fogging across the sweltry sea.

Lethargic from the heat and still smouldering over Candy's interference, Charles had been morose and impatient. He resisted Molly's hesitant attempts to engage in conversation and she became enigmatic and unresponsive.

When they reached the tiny old smuggler's pub, she'd gone straight away to sit between Fingers and Bas. Charles remained at the bar, persuading himself that it was his duty as a former CO to buy each of his men a drink and chat to them individually. He duped himself into thinking that it was a good opportunity to find out a bit more about what each of them were doing now, but it was bloody hard to concentrate when every time he heard her shout something at one of the men or laugh at a joke, he found himself losing the thread of his conversation and trying to listen into hers.

But after two hours of stifling small talk and several whiskies he was in no mood to pretend any longer. He didn't want to be angry with her. What he really wanted was to take her outside and make amends for his boorish behaviour, to take her hand and lead her from the hot, muggy stillness of the cliffs down to the dark coolness of the quiet beach, where he could remove her clothes and make intense, langorous love to her in the damp sand.

Charles began to feel like a dick for messing things up and a sad bastard for hanging around the bar waiting for an opportunity to resolve them, even when it was becoming abundantly clear she was not going to give him one. So when Kinders cried off, explaining he was on childcare duty the next afternoon, Charles had bottled out and they walked back to the hotel, where he spent much of the night lying awake seething at his stupidity.

Why the fuck couldn't he get a grip on his temper? Charles shifted irritably in his car seat and tried to stretch his legs out in Brains' small car. For years he'd watched his father wrestle with his anger. As a Full Colonel, his father been accustomed to getting his way at work, but his mother was an individual, an amateur pianist with a social conscience who rarely backed down from her own opinions; and at home his childhood had been blighted by tense standoffs and frequent arguments.

As a child he'd needed to protect his mother from his father's intimidating tirades; as an awkward teenager, confused by adolescence and disparaged by girls, he'd felt more sympathy for his father's position. Now, with a broken marriage behind him, he could look back at his parent's explosive union with more understanding, having come to the realisation they were spirited individualists whose mutual attraction had been undermined by years of fierce contest and reluctant concession. As individuals, he loved them, but as partners they were combustable. He'd often wondered if he'd married Rebecca – who'd seemed so agreeable initially– to avoid having the same anguished marriage as his parents. What a mistake he'd made with that!

"Oh, I've got the worst shitting headache I've ever had," groaned Mansfield from the back of the car.

"Blame it on Molly."

"Yeah the sly witch."

Charles just about resisted opening his eyes. "Interesting evening?" he interrupted in a deliberately casual voice.

"What they mean, Charles," explained Brains as he changed gear, "is that Molly persuaded the bartender to let her behind the bar where she mixed a load of lethal cocktails for the boys and they all got bladdered. What was it she made for you Dangles?"

"I dunno, she said it was a _Cockney Sucking Cowboy_ or something like that. It tasted bloody horrible. That's the last thing I remember about last night."

"She made me something called _Liquid viagra_, moaned Mansfield. "It had loads of red bull in it. I haven't slept a wink all night. I'm not touching one of her pissing cock-_up_tails again.

"Think yourself lucky, Mansfield. I got the old _Afghan Monkey_, but because they didn't have any melon or banana liqueur, she put in mint liqueur and a mashed up banana instead."

"Ugh, Bas. That sounds evil."

"It was minging. Just thinking about it makes me want to honk."

"You necked it though, Bas," Brains piped up.

"Don't be so fucking cheerful Brains. She only let you off cos you're driving. Next reunion, I'm going to make sure she gives you a Molly Dawes special."

"I ain't going to drink any of her drinks again, if this is the way she makes me feel the following morning," declared Dangles.

Charles smiled through his own misery. Painful as it was to admit, Dawes had clearly been on top form after he left the pub with Kinders last night. She might be just five-foot two inches high, but she was a gobby cockney and more than capable of taking over a pub and causing havoc with her strange, perverted cockails.

He supposed he should be grateful that his outburst last night hadn't seem to affect her, but hearing about it just made him feel more miserable. After last night's debacle, he'd woken up this morning recalling the moment of their coupling…

_"__Is it okay?__"_

_"__Beautiful,__"_ she'd answered. _"__I__'__d forgotten how amazing.__"_

His stomach had tightened with desire at the sweetness of the memory and he felt swollen with an emotion, an intensity, something, love perhaps? It had still been early. He'd stolen upstairs to her room hoping for a chance to say all the things he'd wanted to the night before, to make up for his anger, and to ask her out in Bristol so they could talk. Somewhere too, in the back of his mind, he was hoping he could tempt her back into her bed, to make joyous, secret love to her before everyone else got up for breakfast.

Her door was open and even before he'd looked into the blue coldness of the empty room he knew what it meant. She'd gone, left already and her car was no longer parked outside.

She'd left without saying goodbye to him. He couldn't believe it. And moreover, he seemed the only one singled out for this particularly painful punishment, because at breakfast no one seemed surprised by her disappearance, so he guessed they all knew. Eventually as they were packing the car he'd asked Brains, quietly, where Molly was.

"She left early this morning… said her goodbyes last night." Brains had looked at him curiously: "Didn't she tell you?"

Charles had walked round to the boot to avoid a reply.

But Brains had followed him adding cheekily: "So hell hasn't frozen over yet?"

"What?" Charles' had regretted his waspish tone immediately.

"Ok." Brains had hesitated for a moment. "You and Molly… It's still classified then, Boss?"

"You're damn right," he had snapped as he'd swung his bergen into the boot.

Now enroute to what would undoubtedly be difficult morning with Candy in Newport, Charles shifted in the front seat and sighed.

He had the next 10 days off with Sam before he had to fly to New York. No matter how much he wanted to, he'd spent too little time with his son recently to hare off on some mission to find Molly in Bristol and try to win her over.

At 10 years old and on the edge of his teens, Sam was begging Charles to let him go to boarding school and live in Switzerland during the holidays. But Switzerland was impossible – Charles wasn't there enough – and Rebecca had flat out rejected his suggestion they put Sam's name down for his old boarding school. This holiday was his chance to talk with Sam, and get to the bottom of why he didn't want to live at home. Charles couldn't let himself be distracted by Molly at this important time in his son's life.

He suspected Sam's request was to do with Teddy, Rebecca's new husband. Charles had never anticipated that, after the relative easiness of their divorce, he and Rebecca would spend so much time disagreeing about Sam. Teddy seemed a decent man, solid, unsmiling even, but he'd taken Sam in and appeared to love him as much as the three children he and Rebecca had gone on to have. For that Charles was profoundly grateful.

Now Sam was growing older and wanting independence, but Teddy seemed unable to relax the rules and according to Rebecca, Sam had become sullen and rebellious. Recently Charles had come to dread his weekends with his son, because they inevitably started with Sam arriving tense and unhappy after some conflict at home and ended with a tearful parting, and a dressing down from a forthright Teddy and a sheepish Rebecca. Charles got the distinct impression during these awkward encounters that they thought he wasn't stepping up to the mark as Sam's father. He'd tried to deal with it on his own with Rebecca but had been rebuffed.

Brains braked suddenly and he opened his eyes again.

"Are you alright Bas? You look a bit pale."

Charles turned round to see Bas looking doggedly at the horizon as he turned an odd shade of green.

"Uh, I think I'm going to be…

"Stop the car," Dangles shouted. He's going to chuck up."

Brains managed to get onto the hard shoulder of the M4.

"Thank fuck he got out in time," said Dangles as they all watched him race to the bushes. "Uh oh. Shitting hell! You chunder Bas!"

"Urgh, Bas. I can't look," groaned Brains.

"Did you see that?" shouted Mansfield in revolted delight. "He's chucked up enough for a roadside pizza all around."

* * *

Candy was waiting for them at the cemetry when they arrived. Anxious about his reception, Charles lingered behind the men until they had all greeted her. Then he stepped forward: "Hello Candy. It's good to see you again."

He held his breath.

She smiled: "Captain James. I didn't expect you. It's nice of you to come and visit Smurf."

He breathed a sigh of relief. Politeness would be the order of the day, then. "How are you?"

"Oh, fine except I've just gone and twisted my ankle. This stupid chair." She gestured at the wheelchair she was sitting in with irritation and turned to introduce the women with her. "I'm fortunate Rhian is here to help."

"Can I push you to Smurf's grave?"

"That'll be tidy. This stupid foot."

He pushed her along the cemetary's tarmac road in silence, turning through the trees to a small open area of hillside overlooking the Bristol Channel. The lads trailed behind them, silent and troubled by their surroundings.

"So what are you doing now Captain?"

"I'm no longer in the army. I'm working for the United Nations."

"That must be interesting. Here we are. We put him in over here."

He wheeled her over to a newish looking grave with a simple granite headstone inscribed with Smurf's name and his dates. Charles nodded approvingly when he saw his unit badge engraved below.

They stood for a few solemn moments around the grave, as he repeated Dylan Thomas' words from _Under Milk Wood_. After he'd finished there was silence around the group, a time for each of them to think about Smurf.

Charles' mind returned to the day Smurf had joined 2 Section. It was not an easy start. New recruits are generally eager to establish themselves, but Smurf was pugnacious and his aggressive personality rattled. Then he'd proved himself in a skirmish, and established himself as one of the most popular of the boys. At one time, he'd been one of Charles' best men. That was until they went to Afghan. With Geraint's death uppermost in his mind, Smurf's personality had changed. He'd become embittered towards the Afghans, and no longer someone with something to prove, but someone who felt he was owed something. Long before the episode on the bridge, Smurf was becoming a regular topic of concern in his briefings with Kinders.

'I should have relieved him from that last mission,' thought Charles miserably as he found himself going into another examination of the past and where he went wrong. Then he caught himself. 'Not today,' he told himself savagly. 'I couldn't stand it after last night.' He looked past the graveyeards leading down the hill to the River Severn and the headlands that separated England and Wales and his mind drifted back to the moment he'd knelt before Molly, and brought her to a shuddering orgasm. He pushed the inappropriate thought away.

He heard the _pffsst_ of a can opening and looked around.

"To old Smurfoid," said Fingers, balancing an open can of Brains on the grave. "Have a drink with your old 2 Section mates."

Bas Vegas was distributing several more cans to the boys from a plastic bag in his rucksack.

"Smurf"

"Sicknote"

"You old dog. I miss you"

Candy was joyful through her tears: "Look, Rhian, he's with his mates and they're going to give him a few drinks."

Candy turned to Captain James. "Captain, can you push me back to the car please? I don't want to get in the way."

"You don't have to go."

"What man in his 20s wants his mother around when he's supping with his mates?"

Charles smiled: "You're right."

"Besides. There's something I need to ask you."

"Here it comes," he thought, as he pushed the wheelchair down the path.

"What is Molly Dawes doing now."

"She's studying to be a doctor."

"She's done well for herself! At university? Which one, Captain?"

"Bristol."

She looked back and gestured at the Severn bridge rising out of the mist in the distance. "That's just accross the water. She wasn't able to make it today?"

"Apparently not."

Behind him he could hear Bas Vegas' voice rising as he recalled the night a drunken Smurf stripped naked and danced on a table in Cyprus.

She turned round to look at him over her shoulder: "I need to speak to Molly. Can you persuade her to come and see me?"

"I don't think I can do that," he said firmly. "If you want to see her, why not invite her yourself and she can accept or refuse."

"You were in love with her once, weren't you?"

Behind him the boys fell about in noisy laughter. He stayed silent, resenting her intrusion.

"And she was in love with you?"

"There was a time when I thought so."

"Then why did you part?"

It was hard to hold back his annoyance: "Candy, it's in the past. Let it stay there."

"I know you're going to tell me it's none of my business. But, it is you see…" Her voice trailed away as she lost the courage to continue.

He waited silently. Under the circumstances he wasn't going to volunteer any information to her.

Then all of a sudden she seemed to lose her composure. "It's too hard, Rhian," she confessed to her friend. "Look at him. He's not going to talk about it."

Her companion stroked a supportive hand over Candy's shoulders. "Perhaps you should start by telling him about your ankle. Let me wheel you to that bench, then you'll be out of the sun and the Captain can sit down."

Confused, he followed the wheelchair over to the bench.

"I'm not being a busy body, Charles. At least, I know I meddled before, but I want to make amends – if I can."

For the first time he made himself look at her properly and he realised she looked incredibly tired, somehow defeated. There was an odd quality of suffering in her eyes. Then he understood it – the wheelchair, the headscarf, her needing to avoiding the sun, the compelling desire to make things better.

She nodded at the comprehension on his face: "That's right. "It's in my bones. That's why I can't walk."

"I'm sorry. When was it discovered? Are you getting good treatment?"

"A year ago. But they can't operate. I've been having chemotherapy."

"That must have been gruelling. Is it working."

"Helping, prolonging, yes. But that's about all. It's escaped already."

For a moment he couldn't speak. He couldn't believe her life had been so blighted. A father who'd run off, twin sons killed in Afghan, terminal cancer.

"Now you'll understand why I need to see Molly. She looked at him closely. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

He nodded, still stunned at her revelation.

She looked away in embarrassment. "I don't know if I can make anything better. I'd like to, but that's for you two I guess, not me. What I can do, though, is try to explain why. I owe you both that."

"Yes," he said, looking her directly in the eye. "You do."

"Well, when Smurf passed I thought he and Molly were together. Even at his funeral, I thought that. So it was a big shock when I discovered, by accident, that she was in love with you."

She took a deep, reflecting breath: "I should have known that life moves onwards, in ways you don't understand. I had a cob on instead. Didn't I Rhian?

The other woman laughed: "Candy, you were tamping mad!"

Candy nodded: "I convinced myself that you were both disrespecting Smurf's memory and I did all I could to stop you.

"I'm not proud of it. It was shameful."

Charles was uncomfortable with her taking so much responsibility. "You're not the only one who was confused. There _had_ been something between them. And…" he fell silent, not wanting to give voice to a thought that had been gathering dust at the edges of his mind since Qaseem first told him. "If Molly had discussed it with me, instead of dealing with it alone, I'm sure we could have all resolved it."

"No," she blurted out in a rush: "I knew it was wrong at the time. I just, I couldn't accept it. I needed to feel Smurf's life had meant something to someone. That he'd left behind someone who was going to love him and remember him. That his life had been worth it."

"Both your son's lives were worth living."

"Oh, I didn't worry about that with Geraint. He was an easy, lovable child. He had hundreds of friends, girlfriends, Elin, – his fiancée – and his little one. I see Geraint in Cerys all the time. But Dylan was different. He was tough and defensive. Even when I cwtched him as a little boy, I could feel him stiffen with resistance. He always ran against the wind."

Her voice broke with the strain of it: "He never had a significant relationship. Perhaps he was like his father. He'd never known any real love except mine. I didn't want that to be the sum of his life."

"When Geraint died, he left a child – a beautiful little daughter – watching her grow, every day, I could see his life had added up to something more. But Smurf wasn't like that. And after he'd died, I began to wonder what his life had been about… what impact he'd left behind him. I needed him to have something, someone he'd made an impact on.

Charles flinched. What awful pain she must have gone through after Smurf's death.

And I convinced myself that Molly was the person. I mean, there seemed to have been something between them, in the past. I don't know really. When they were down here on leave, I thought there might still be. Smurf warned me not to get involved, but I was stupid and I did. After he went back, I started thinking, romanticising. I convinced myself there was something and I sent my old engagement ring to him to give to her."

Charles could feel his shoulders tensing. That bloody ring. It had taken on a life of its own and attracted layers of speculation and innuendo. Why the hell did Molly still wear it? The best thing she could do was lose it down the plug hole!

"Then there was this trip to Vegas they were planning. Smurf was going to fly her first class and get her to gamble all his deployment money, put it on red. He'd even bought her a sexy, red dress to wear on the night - he'd asked me to help him pick it out. So how could she have done that if she was with someone else?"

Yes, how could she? Charles felt an irrational stab of anger. He hadn't known anything about _that_.

"He was up in London planning the trip with her... that's when he passed. No wonder I thought there was something going on. You'd have to be inhuman not to."

Yes, thought Charles. You would. I would have wondered about that too.

"I guess I wanted something – someone to reassure me that he was liked." She looked up at him. "I know mother's are not supposed to be like this. We're supposed to love our children unconditionally." She looked helplessly at her hands lying in her lap. "And I think, with Geraint I did love him like that and with Dylan I didn't."

Her devastating admission fell away. They were brutal words swiftly carried off by a gust of wind. Yet once spoken, they could never be forgotten.

This was the crux of it then, This was where all the nonsense had originated – from Candy's guilt that Smurf died alone and unloved.

"It came from somewhere so deep inside me, so hidden, I didn't even realise I felt that way until after Smurf had died."

She added: "I don't think he ever knew."

Charles said nothing. He couldn't reply. All he could hear was Smurf's peevish outburst on the bridge nagging at his conscience, yet again. What had he said about being Geraint's twin brother?

_'__I always got the shit end of the stick. Everyone loved him.'_

Charles flinched. He guessed Smurf had known. For the first time since that moment on the bridge, he felt sorry for Smurf with his whole being. There was none of the usual feelings – anger, resentment or frustration – that Charles often experienced when he thought of Smurf.

Charles had an amazing relationship with his mother. He knew she had loved him unreservedly from his first moment and that knowledge had given him confidence and the belief he could deal with anything. He could not begin to comprehend what it would be like to live without his mother's love.

He looked back at Candy, sitting silent, guilty, waiting for his reaction. She's got guts to admit that, he thought.

But in trying to justify herself, she'd mentioned the trip to Vegas, the sexy red dress, and the ring. And in doing so, Charles thought, she'd made it much worse for him, since it had opened up all kinds of new questions and doubts about Molly, threatening to topple the fledgling love he'd rediscovered for her.

He wasn't going to ask Molly about those questions. It was bad enough just to know. So he turned his mind away from it, pushing his memories of Dawes, Kabul and yesterday evening to the darkest recesses of his troubled mind.

A/n Thanks for your reviews, comments, PMs and requests for personal orders over the past two 'smutty' or 'dark' side chapters. I'm so sorry I was unable to oblige, they did make me giggle though! There is not so much to 'enjoy' in this chapter, it's all a bit miserable with Candy's illness, and Molly and CJ as far apart now, as they've ever been. Those of you who have begged for a reconciliation for a few chapters, will have to wait out a bit longer, I'm afraid!


	12. Chapter 12: A Family Break by the Sea

"Do you think he and Nan are doing it?"

"Who and Nan?"

"Merv the Perv."

"Doing it?" Molly laughed: "Shagging an ex-plod would be too much, Bella, even for Nan."

"Why's he living in her house then?"

"I dunno. I'm not Nan's keeper. He's a lodger. Perhaps it's to help with the spare room tax."

"If I lived there with Jay she wouldn't have to pay. I'm family."

Molly turned to her sister as they arrived at their caravan door. "Well seeing as you're only 15, she probably doesn't want you living with Jay."

Bella pulled a face: "Some of us don't want to go to college, or join the army like you".

Nan opened the door, spachelor in hand. "You talking about that scrote who can't keep it in his trousers?" He's after a four by four, I'm telling you."

"Four by four?"

"Four kids by four different women. He's collected three already. You'd better bleeding well make sure you're ain't the fourth Bella."

"Yes Nan," Bella said scowling behind her back.

Molly sat down on the caravan step to take off her running shoes. Her heart was still juddering after that early morning run across a drizzly beach and her legs ached. Christ, she needed to run more often, or she'd be seriously unfit when it came to rejoining the army. Mentally she felt better though. There was nothing like a run to chase her out of another early morning dream about Charles.

Her dreams about Charles always started the same way; she'd be in the medical tent at the FOB, slowly peeling off her pants, the rest of her kit lying discarded around her feet, while Charles watched her from the unzipped entrance of the tent in his No.1 dress uniform, a guarded expression on his face. She'd whisper to him to come in, to lift her onto the treatment bed so they could make love. It was suggestive and with soldiers wandering around outside, highly erotic.

But just as she was wrapping her naked legs around his, the rough wool of his trousers grazing the soft skin of her inner thigh, someone would interrupt them. Mostly the intruder was Smurf with a Welsh song and a cup of tea, but sometimes it was Mansfield with a plate of sausages asking for suntan cream, or Kinders wanting to talk about Badrai. Once it was even Major Beck, improbably wearing a pink, lacy nightie, instructing her to "Do well, apply yourself and you'll have a good tour." Stripped and exposed, the humiliation would creep over Molly and she'd drift awake disoriented and frustrated.

After those dreams the bittersweet memories of their hotel-room tryst – that she was trying so hard to forget – would torment her for the rest of the day.

Sometimes she could hear Charles' voice in her head so clearly it was as if he was standing right behind her in his sarong, his finger slipping under her lace underwear and whispering into her ear:

_"__I need to see you naked, beautiful, just the way I remember you.__"_

Consumed with desire she'd be on the verge of capitulating and calling his mobile. But then the biting pain of their furious argument would intervene and she'd renew her determination not to contact him again.

In another – fantasy – world Charles would have been her love. Even in this life, he was pretty unbeatable. But she knew their relationship was not to be. They came from different worlds, they'd got off to a bad start, and in the painful, shadowy aftermath of Smurf's death, the frail beauty of their love had wilted.

Looking back, she understood now that although he was a brilliant leader, somehow in Afghan Charles needed more confidence. With much to lose, he had started out wary and mistrustful, until certainty in her had fired up his soul. And what an amazing, generous lover he'd turned out to be!

Only then she'd trampled over the relationship and crushed their hopes with it. No wonder he was still angry, bitter. She wasn't sure he – they'd – ever get over it. And she couldn't bear that. She'd dodged her father's fury throughout her childhood and one thing she knew, she wasn't going to live with such rage again.

In Qaseem's poetry book – anthology – she'd found some lines from a poem by a geezer called Michael Drayton, about how lovers should meet after a break up.

_'… __Shake hands for ever, cancel all our Vows, _

_And when we meet at any time again, _

_Be it not seen in either of our Brows _

_That we one jot of former Love retain…' _

If she ever met Charles again, this was the way she wanted it to be. It was much better to have an agreement of protective regret than to raise her hopes with an unforgettable reunion shag, only have them crushed by a bitter clash afterwards.

She looked around her at the beach, emptied of its usual holiday crowd in the cold drizzle. Some bloody sunny August bank holiday this was!

When Molly was young, she'd have given anything for a caravan holiday. Her mum and dad had never had the dough, but school friends returned from summer holidays with sticks of rock, tiny glued shell animals and plastic windmills on sticks, chattering about swimming in the waves, making sandcastles and eating 99s. As they'd got older they'd boasted about hanging around slot machines, slow dancing with boys at caravan site discos and getting sand in their pants when 'doing it' on the beach. Stuck all summer in the stifling heat of their cramped East London flat Molly listened to their exotic tales with more than a touch of envy.

But looking around in the blue rain at the fish and chip strewn baby swings, the battered concrete ice cream stall, and the shabby peeling caravans, all she could think of was that compared to a cliff top hotel in Pembrokeshire, a caravan holiday in Devon with Bella, Nan and Dirty Merv was all a bit shit.

Inside the caravan Nan was cooking breakfast for Merv, who was sitting at the table in a stained baggy vest and brown trousers, clipping stray hairs from a bushy ginger moustache.

"You want some fried bread, Molly?"

"No thanks Nan."

"There's tea in the pot. Pour a cup for Merv, will you?"

Molly placed the cup near her Nan's lodger and slid onto the bench opposite with a bowl of cereal.

Merv looked up at her over the top of his glasses and nodded approvingly. "You've been out running this morning? You look all sweaty."

Molly didn't know what to say. He didn't seem to want a reply anyway. He was too busy stroking Vaseline on his moustache and peering open mouthed at himself in a shaving mirror.

She pulled out her phone. There was a message from Qaseem. It must have come in when she was running.

_Sorry to inform you... Bashira has disappeared. I just discovered she's been missing from school for the last five days. Trying to find out more... Q_

Bashira missing? Her mind whirled with the possibilities. Could her family have found her at last and removed her? Or might she have...

"What are you young ladies up to today? Going to put your bikinis on and go for a swim?"

Distracted, Molly looked up. Merve grinned at her and blew his moustache clippings off the table.

"Not today. It's pissing down for a start and that pool's only a metre deep." Molly answered out of politeness. They were all going to be in the caravan for the next five days after all.

In the background her sister hovered with a smug 'I told you so' smile.

Several ginger hairs billowed into Molly's cereal. She grimaced and pushed her cereal away, returning to her text. Perhaps Bashira had run away to get married? She was 18. Most girls of her age would be married by now... It was 1.30 in the afternoon in Kabul. She'd call Qaseem later when he was home from the university.

Nan brought Merv his breakfast and sat down next to her lodger with a cup of tea.

"Here, Molly, you'll never guess who I just bumped into?"

"No, you're right Nan, I wouldn't."

"Belinda - she's staying with the kids in a caravan on the next door site. Isn't that a coincidence?"

Molly stared at her. She couldn't quite believe it. Even her Nan couldn't go that far.

"You didn't."

Nan just beamed back at her seemingly oblivious.

"Bleeding hell Nan. You did."

"I did what Molly? She made a big show of rummaging inside her bag for something. "I told Belinda to come round for a gas after breakfast. She's going to bring the kids swimming."

Nan smiled at Molly's shocked face. "Don't worry. Dave didn't come with them. He's busy in London."

"Dad busy? You do surprise me!"

"Seems he's turned over a new leaf!" Nan laughed as if she was telling a private joke.

Molly smiled bitterly. "He might be my Dad, Nan but he's a twat and he upsets me."

"Well you're lucky you ain't married to him. I always said, it's your mother you need to feel sorry for."

Molly gazed out of the window. It had been three years since she'd seen her mother. She wondered what it would be like.

She shrugged: "Be nice to see the little bleeders again, I suppose."

"They're not little bleeders any more, I call them the ASBOs now."

"They don't have ASBOs Nan!"

"Nah, I'm only joking." Nan turned round at the sounds of voices outside. "That sounds like them now."

Molly watched each of them troop into the caravan. For three years she'd had a mental picture of them in her head and they'd changed into grown up versions. Her baby brother, just two when she last saw him, was a five year old now, a little bruiser with shaved blond hair and a wild-looking, grubby face. He looked at Molly curiously without any trace of recognition and she felt tears pricking the back of her eyes as she realised he didn't know her at all.

"Where is she then?" Molly heard her mum's familiar voice outside and she looked anxiously as Belinda appeared in the doorway. She looked older somehow, tired, there was grey in her hair.

Molly was overwhelmed. "I'm here Mum," she flustered.

"Look at you. My Molly. All grown up." Her mum was breathless and Molly could see she didn't know what to do either.

"Not too old. Still your baby girl inside."

"Oh Molly, you'll always be my baby girl."

They should have been hugging now, Molly thought, shakily. But they weren't. They were just looking at each other, surrounded by her baffled siblings.

"Mum, can we play outside?"

"No you can't. Come and meet your oldest sister. She's a star – a hero – you'll never meet anyone more brave than my Molly."

"And she was given a medal by the Queen," Nan called from the bedroom. "You show her some respect."

They stood hesitant, wary to make the first move.

"Oh you lot!" chided Belinda. "Come here Molly and give your old mum a hug."

"Right, come on you Asbos. Let's go to the pool and give your mum and Molly a bit of peace." Nan appeared unexpectedly from the bedroom in a hot pink bikini, which dazzled with silver sequins.

Bella started laughing: "Blimey Nan, you could have warned us. I'd have put on my shades."

"Careful Mum you'll give the _rozzer_ a coronary," joked Belinda."

They all looked over at Merv, now engrossed in _The Police Review_.

Belinda turned back to Molly: "Seriously though Molls, doesn't Nan look great in a bikini. All that hard work at boot camp is paying off."

"Boot camp?"

"Don't sound so surprised. Why can't I have just as nice a body as the next person?"

"It's ever so expensive. She only goes because she fancies one of her trainers," teased Belinda."

"Really Nan?"

"Ooh, he's probably 30 years younger than me, but he's a dish. He's got lovely blond hair and a great arse. Me and Linda keep eyeing up his bottom from the back when he does them squats."

"You're just one of those cheetahs, you got no shame, mum."

"Duh! Cougar, you mean," said Bella.

"Cougar? Yes well one of them anyway. You know dirty old females that mate with younger men. You wouldn't believe it Molly. She goes there fully made up, dressed in a tiny vest and hot pink cycling shorts and comes back all heaving with lust."

"Nan!"

"I can't help it if that sexy Arse Vegas is all flirtatious and wiggles his bum at me! At my age you gotta grab your chances wherever they come from."

"Arse Vegas?"

The penny dropped.

"Bas Vegas you mean?"

"That's it. Bas Vegas. I keep forgetting. Me and Linda call him _Arse Vegas_ cos he's got such a tight arse."

"And what does _Arse Vegas_ call you then? Asked Belinda"

Nan giggled: "My naughty ladies up the back". Anyway, how do you know his name Molly?"

"Oh God! Don't ask." Molly tried to put the image of Bas Vegas wiggling his bum at her oversexed Nan firmly out of her nut. It was too much. "Where's Dad?"

"He's at home. He's got an allotment now. You wouldn't believe it, Molly. He's built a whole lot of greenhouses on it and he has to stay back to water the plants otherwise they'll die."

"Dad? A gardener?"

"I know. But he's struggled to find work and all he can get are those crap zero hour contracts, you know where you turn up on the day and if they don't need you to work, they'll send you home again without any readies."

"I thought he was on the sick?"

"He was. But then some man came and did some sort of work incapability test and decided he was fit and cut his benefits." It's been a right nightmare Molly."

"But how does the allotment earn him money?"

Belinda looked round to see if Merv was listening: "_Draw_," she whispered.

"_Drawer_?"

"Shh. Yes, you know, _blow_."

"What, in his greenhouse? Dad's growing dope on the allotment? Oh God I've heard it all now."

"Right," interrupted Nan deliberately. "Let's get on down to the pool, before it fills up with kiddy pee."

"Pee in the pool? Yuck! I'm not going."

"Well what are you going to do instead Bella?"

"Buy a magazine, and then sit down and call Jay."

"Aww, she can't be apart from him for even a couple of days, poor love," commiserated Belinda. "Molly, why don't we get one of those fancy iced coffees and go and sit under an umbrella on the beach."

"That sounds nice."

Belinda put her arms round Molly as they stood outside the van: "You alright, girl? I've missed you so much."

"Why didn't you call me back mum?" Molly couldn't hold back. "I don't remember how many times I left you messages."

"Your dad was so angry," Belinda explained as she moved towards the shops. "Then when his benefits were cut, we really struggled and, I dunno Molly, I couldn't call you. I began to think Dave was right, that you should support your family when they're battling."

"I know you shouldn't expect your children to support you, that's not right... and over the years your dad's made some wrong choices, but we really needed support then, Molly."

"I wasn't there because I didn't want to be, mum. I wasn't there because Dad kicked me out. You could have called me at any time and I'd have helped you, you know that. I just didn't want to feed Dad's beer and fag habit."

She thought again about Bashira. If only her mum could understand what she'd been through, why she felt obliged to look after her.

"Yeah, well your dad doesn't deal with things very well. He's a toss pot when he wants to be and don't think I haven't thought of leaving him; I have more times than I'd like to tell you, but I don't know how I'd survive on my own. The boys would be devastated without their father..." Belinda broke off, as they arrived at the coffee shop.

She pointed at a caramel iced coffee with whipped cream. ""Ooh, shall I have one of those?" Not good for the hips, but what the hell." She sighed. "I'm on holiday."

"You can have what you want mum." Molly pulled out her purse. "My treat."

She paid for the coffees and they carried them wordlessly to a couple of damp sun beds under an umbrella.

Belinda stared out to the grey foamy sea: "I thought beaches were sunny places Molly. Not raining like this! Some holiday,"

"It's okay mum," Molly blurted out, rashly holding her mother's hand. "I know what Dad's like. I've lived with him too!"

Her mother didn't turn round.

"I've watched you struggle over the years. You can talk to me about it. I'll listen and I won't judge..."

"No," Belinda interrupted, withdrawing from Molly's hand. "If I start talking out loud, it might become too real. I might just find the balls to leave."

Belinda looked round and patted Molly's arm in a fragile attempt at lightness: "He's all mouth and no trousers anyway, love."

My mum doesn't need this, thought Molly. She wants a good holiday away from home and some laughs.

Belinda took a quick sip of coffee and said brightly. "Mmm. This is yummy coffee."

"You've got a creamy moustache!"

"Have I?"

"It's thicker than Dirty Merv's!"

They both giggled. Belinda rummaged into her plastic handbag for a tissue and found something else: "Here, I've got something for you. We haven't had any post for you for a long time, but this arrived last week. She handed Molly a thick cream envelope.

Still feeling guilty for pushing her mum Molly turned it over. Her soul lifted when she saw her name written in inky italic strokes. She stared at it trying to still the sudden beating of her heart. For a second she thought it was something to do with Bashira's disappearance, then she realised that was impossible.

"Looks posh," Belinda said.

Molly didn't answer. She was too busy wondering why Charles would be writing to her now.

* * *

A/n I'm sorry it has taken so long to update this chapter. I have been distracted by RL and to be honest had a crisis of confidence about my writing, the story and not doing enough smut for a definite smut-loving FF crowd - typical mid-story blues, I guess. Thank you for your patience and your support and especially to everyone who contacted me, demanding more! That really helped. There will also be more smut on the way, I promise...


	13. Chapter 13: A letter and a Surprise

"Well open it then," Belinda was impatient.

Molly slid a nail under the flap of the envelope. Inside was a letter in the same thick cream paper and a thin, pink envelope addressed to her and postmarked Newport.

With trembling fingers she tore the envelope open and slid a letter out.

_Dear Molly,_

_This is really hard. I've been staring at this paper for ages and I don't even know how to start... except to say I'm so sorry for what I did to you after Smurf passed. I look back now and I hardly recognise myself. At the time I was desperate that Smurf had been loved and would be missed._

_I badgered you and you'll probably never trust me now, but I want you to know I realise now what I did was wrong._

_I wish you'd come to the reunion. It was a beautiful moment having the boys with Smurf again. You could come over to see him from Bristol. I can't get there so often now._

_I had a chat about you with the Captain. I hope he tells you about it. I now know my meddling broke up something serious. I wish I'd known that then Molly. You probably loathe me – you'd be right to._

_I don't know what you're doing now, or who you might be with, you might be married with children for all I know. So I'm not going to interfere. But I'd just like to make things better between us all, if I can. It's obvious the Captain still LOVES you after all this time. That's special. If you're single and you still want him, don't throw it all away._

_Love_

_Candy_

Molly would be lying to say she had never worried about what might happen when Candy met the Boss. It was one of the reasons why she'd bolted from Bosherston. Candy had strong protective maternal instincts and Molly knew from experience that anything was possible, including a showdown with Charles. That would really put her in the shit with the Bossman.

For days after the Newport reunion, her heart raced every time her phone rang, fearful it was Candy, or Charles. But would Candy really have a confrontation with the boss? Retrieving Geraint's body under fire would have placed him in an exalted position in any grieving mother's eyes. Over time Molly realised her fears of a row were unlikely. Obviously it was only her who was meant to get the shit end of Candy's stick.

But now she had to get her head around a different scenario. Instead of accusing Charles, Candy had been confessional and apologetic.

She picked up Charles' letter with trepidation. It was undated. Inside there was just a brief sentence written in Charles' familiar scrawl.

_Molly, Why did I find out about this from other people? Why didn't you tell me? Things could have been different... Charles_

"Fucking typical," Molly muttered under her breath.

"What's wrong?" Belinda asked.

"I mean it's fucking typical that after these years of doing what Candy wanted me to, giving up the Bossman for her, now she's gone all confessional, they've had a cosy little chat over Smurf's gravestone and I get all the blame."

"What do you mean love? I don't understand," Belinda frowned: "What are you talking about?"

"This letter is from Smurf's mum Candy. After his death she accused me of being disrespectful to his memory because of my relationship with Charles. She threatened me. She forced me to split up with Charles and I didn't tell him why so he's been furious with me every since."

Her mind fluttered back to the moment she had stood in his bedroom in Pembrokeshire, sliding off her knickers as Charles gazed, mesmerised at her mirrored reflection.

"Well... pretty much ever since. And now she's met him, she's confessed and he's angry with me."

There was a silence and she could see her mother's expression work as she tried to figure it all out.

"I still don't understand."

"Oh, it's all a buggered-up mess and it's too complicated to explain, mum."

"But who's Charles? Was he the Captain that kept calling for you?"

Molly nodded miserably

"And you were with him?"

The slight incline of Molly's head was barely detectable. Was she embarrased? Belinda thought.

"Your CO – Commanding Officer – is that what you call him?"

Molly steeled herself for the criticism. Instead her mum said: "But I thought you were with Smurf."

"Oh God. Not you and all, mum."

"You've always kept things to yourself love. Jade and Bella tell me everything, but with you I've always had to guess! I saw the way Smurf looked at you when he stayed with us, and there was all that stuff with the red dress and the first class flights and then, I remember the way you were after he died and I just presumed."

"You put two and two together and made bleeding twenty two! Just like everybody else did."

"Well your dad didn't. He was still hoping you'd get back with Artem."

"Oh like in a million years!"

"But how could she force you to split up if you didn't want to? You of all people Molly! When you were a young'un nobody could tell you what to do."

"It's too complicated to explain, mum."

Molly turned back to Candy's letter.

_'It's obvious the Captain still LOVES you after all this time. That's rare. If you're single and you still want him, don't throw it all away.'_

How was that not bloody interfering? For all she knew Molly might well have got married and had children. How dare she write with her bleeding shouty caps about Charles still loving her!

Molly got up from her seat, offending letters crushed in hand. "I'm so bloody pissed off with all this. I'm going for a walk up the beach."

Sitting alone on black rocks dampened by rain, Molly looked again at Charles' letter. What did he mean by '_other people'_? For some reason her mind kept returning back to their argument in the bathroom at Bosherston. What was it he'd said?

_"I'm sick of worrying about what superior officers, lovesick privates and interfering mothers might think about us."_

At the time she hadn't understood. But now it was clear. Candy was the interfering mother he was referring to. So he must have known then. Obviously someone else – Kinders – must have told him. But why had Charles said nothing to her. _Why_? She couldn't fathom it.

She remembered how angry he'd been in Kabul when they'd met, how he'd demanded to know why she'd left him. He'd seemed to want to punish her. But in Bosherston he'd been different, tender – loving even.

Could Candy be right that he was still in love with her? That with Candy's confession laid bare, they could have a proper chance together?

Molly sat for a long time looking out to sea. For most of her life she'd never been in control. When she was a little'n she'd been swayed like a tender stem, uprooted by the ravages of her father's misfortunes. The army had saved her from a life that was precariously volatile and she'd flourished under its certain regularity. But in her relationship with Charles she had been the unequal partner; at times she'd felt undeserving and unconfident. It was all too easy then, to cave into Candy's demands.

But over the years, rather than diminishing, the Bossman's presence in her emotional life seemed to grow more powerful. She'd given up hoping new relationships would live up to the one she'd had with him. They never did and after the reunion, she'd come to accept knew nobody else would ever affect her in the same way. She loved Charles. He was her 'one that had got away', that she would always regret.

Now Candy's letter – whatever her motives – had offered Molly an opportunity to resolve the past, if she could. Could she take that chance, fill her heart with hope and offer it to Charles? Would he take her back?

Without talking to him she'd never know. And not only that, she owed him an explanation – and an apology – for the way she'd walked away from their relationship.

With trembling fingers she picked up her phone and dialed his mobile. It was an old number. Would he answer?

It went straight to a robotic sounding voicemail. Suddenly she felt nervous and unable to speak. She hadn't been prepared for leaving a message. Should she hang up? No, then he might never call back and she'd have to call again! Best leave a message she decided in a panic as the answerphone service beeped.

But what to bleeding say?

Fu–uck! What to say?

"_Bossman_," she managed eventually in an uncertain, wavering tone. "_It's Dawes – Molly – here. Well you probably know that_." Oh God! Did she really sound that stupid? "_I just got your letter. And Candy's... And I'm bloody sorry! It's all so fucked up isn't it?_" Her apology sounded rushed and hollow. _"I-I'd like to meet you to talk about it_," she stumbled again. "_Perhaps when you're back in the UK._ _Please call me."_ She hung up.

Oh bleeding Christ! That was a disaster. Why the hell had she rushed it?

Her phone beeped and she looked down at the text._"Hello. Wrong number... Don't know Bossman... Not me... shame! Hope you find him. Good luck... Barry (Longmore)."_

Oh Christ! Molly almost cried with relief. Charles had changed his number. She'd better call Brains. He'd have an up-to-date number for Charles.

Nan was sitting in her seat deep in conversation with Belinda when Molly returned. She looked up: "Your mum tells me someone's dropped a bombshell on you. Are you okay lovey?"

"Yes Nan, thanks. I just need to speak to someone."

She dialed Brains mobile.

"Brains, it's Molly. Do you have the Bossman's mobile?"

"Molly? Yeah, I do. You okay?"

"Yeah. I just need to ask him something."

"I reckon!" Brains shot back. "He's been like a bloody bear with a sore head ever since you ran out on him at the reunion."

"What?"

"Oh come on. Talk about '_The love that dare not speak its name_.'"

"Come again?"

"You know... Alfred Douglas and Oscar Wilde."

"Oscar? I don't know him, sorry. Is he a mate?"

"The poet..."

"Poet? But I'm talking about the Bossman. Where is he?"

Brains sighed: "Let me open the team diary."

"You at work?"

"Yeah. You?"

"On a dodgy caravan holiday in Devon."

"Okay, I reckon he's in Bath. He's due to fly from Bristol to Geneva at 4pm this afternoon."

"Bollocks. Do you know when he's coming back here?"

"Not for weeks probably. The UN General Assembly's starting shortly and we've got loads of work on. Let's have a look. He's put it down already - the end of October."

"That'll be half term. Bummer."

"Why don't you surprise him at the airport? You can't be more than a couple of hours drive away in Devon. He's flying at four."

"Four from Bristol airport?"

"That's about three hours away from here." Nan mouthed, looking at her watch and nudging Belinda.

"Yes, Brains confirmed. "He's flying Easyjet. Do you want his flight number?"

"Nah. It's not _that_ important. I'll email him. Thanks you tosser."

"Dawsey?"

"Yes."

"When you get to the airport, don't fuck it up this time. You two should be together."

"Ugh! Pass me my handbag Mum. Brains is going all soft. I'm gonna need something to vomit into."

"Ha ha, transparent as ever, Dawsey. I can _hear _the smile in your voice. Good luck!"

"Stop bloody enjoying yourself, you smug arsehole. It's about Smurf's mum."

"Yeah, yeah, pull the other one. You two should just sort it out. And if the Boss gets laid then he might stop yelling at us. So do us the favour Molls. It's not like you have to take one for the team. You actually fancy the guy!"

There was a triumphant note in his voice as he hung up. "Bastard," she said to the receiver.

Nan drained Molly's coffee and stood up: "Right. If you want to go to Bristol airport to meet lover boy, we'd better leave now."

"But I'm not going to the airport."

"Don't piss about wasting time Molly. If you don't leave now, we won't get there by four."

Molly hung back still reluctant.

"Lets talk about it on the way up, love" said Belinda. "And if you change your mind we can always turn round again."

"Right," Nan got up. "I better go and persuade Merve to put on a shirt."

"Does he have to come too? It's not a bleeding coach trip!"

Nan turned round: "You better get brushed up, Molly, you don't want to go to the airport in _that _clobber."

Molly looked down at her T shirt and skinny jeans. "What's wrong with this?"

But her mum and Nan were hurrying off to the caravan. "Do you think Bella would look after the kids?" asked Nan sheepishly.

"You wanna see him too?"

"Course I do. He's a Captain isn't he? I do fancy a man in uniform." They both giggled.

Molly smiled as she watched them go. There was something so infectious about their enthusiasm, she couldn't help but laugh. At least she'd have them to support her if it all went tits up. But she wasn't going to think like that. After all these years of denial, she could barely keep a lid on all the feelings of dammed regret and wishful thinking that were now swirling in her mind.

And then another memory of their time in Bosherston washed over her: the magical moment when Bossman had whispered her name just before he'd entered her. Even during the intense argument afterwards, the despairing drive home the next day, and the quiet loneliness of the following weeks, she held the memory of that precious exchance alive in her heart as it seemed to recapture just how perfect, how beautiful they had once been together. If the Bossman could still whisper her name like that, then perhaps there was a future to hope for.

* * *

Molly might have left on a high, but the journey itself was enough to bring her back to earth. Squashed between Bella and Belinda in the back of Merv's rusting Rover, willing him to drive faster than 45 in the slow lane, Molly endured several changes of heart and lots of unwanted questions.

"So this man, James," asked Nan.

"Charles," shouted Bella and her mum at the same time.

"Yes, I mean Charles. Was he the Captain who kept calling Belinda a few years ago."

"Yes."

"Ooh, then I'm looking forward to meeting him. I heard his voice on the answerphone. He sounded so sexy."

Oh God. Now she had something else to worry about. How was she going to keep her family away when she spoke to him? One look at them and he'd be running for departures! Oh why had she agreed to go? It was going to be a disaster.

"Was he the same captain from Afghanistan who gave you a medal?" insisted Nan.

"Yes," Molly answered quietly.

"Do you love him?"

Molly blinked and looked out of the window at the cars speeding past them. Some chase this was turning out to be.

Merve looked at Molly in the mirror: "That's against army rules."

"Keep your eyes on the road Merve and don't be so judgmental," said Nan firmly. "Everyone has feelings. I know all about the thing you had with Reggie's driver over Popsical in Evering Road."

Merve grunted in disgust.

"Popsical?"

Belinda exchanged looks with a grinning Bella: "Best not ask, love."

Nan turned round. "Traffic's got worse," she said as they slowed behind a big queue on the M5. "Are we going to get there on time?"

There was a silence in the car. Molly felt a flash of anxiety run through her. Her phone beeped again and she saw another message from Qaseem. He'd finished for the day. She'd have to find time to call him from the airport.

Belinda broke into her thoughts: "Why don't you give him a ring love? You don't want to miss him."

"I don't have his number."

"Well if he's already gone, we'll have a drink on the pier at Western Super Mare and a few rides before going back home. The kids'll be fine in the creche till 7."

"I love a good funfair."

Great! If she missed Charles she was gonna have to console herself on some pissing ghost train.

"Why don't we just forget about the airport and spend the afternoon in Western Super Mare?" Molly said sarcastically.

"Getting cold feet love?" Belinda patted her reassuringly: "Don't worry, we're almost there."

"Don't you have a siren or something," Nan asked Merve.

"That would be against police regulations." Merve looked shocked. "And besides, I retired 20 years ago."

"20 years ago? Well you can turn on the hazards and drive down the hard shoulder," said Belinda. "It's only a couple of miles away."

In spite of her anxiety Molly laughed. It was a bit like that bleeding rickshaw ride in Kabul all over again.

"Ooh, I feel like the queen," basked Nan, as they flashed through the traffic and skidded to a halt outside departures.

"Thanks Merve." Molly was out of the door in a second.

"Wait for us!" called Belinda.

Inside Molly began looking around for Charles but the airport was really busy. He wasn't at the check-in desk. She checked her watch. It was quarter to three.

Belinda ran in behind her and followed her over to passport control. "Can you see him love?"

Molly scanned the crowd frantically. How was she ever going to find him among this crowd? Then she found him standing in the queue for passport control. He was taller than everyone else around him. Her heart tumbled as she took in his sandy coloured T Shirt and black combats. His arms were tanned, his hair was longer and he looked relaxed, as if he'd spent his summer outdoors. Christ, he looked amazing.

"He's over there in the T shirt and combats. He's just about to go through the passport control. Quick."

Nan joined them as they raced to the barrier. "Where is he," she asked. "What does he look like?"

"Bossman, bossman," Molly called.

She noticed his head lift slightly and he looked around surprised, scanning the people in the queue behind him. Seeing no one he knew, he turned back to the desk to hand over his passport.

"He's over there mum, look the tall, handsome one in combats with wavy brown hair, who's got his back to us," said Belinda."No, over there look he's just turned round. Wow! He might be the best looking man I've ever seen."

Really Belinda?" said Nan disbelievingly, craning her neck to see. "I've known some tall, dark and handsome men in my time, believe me."

"Bossman," Molly shouted, raising her voice louder.

How could he not hear her? People nearby were beginning to stare at her. He picked up his passport and walked towards the door. Fuck! She was going to miss him.

"Duh! He's never going to hear you like that Molly. You gotta shout really loud." Bella blew a huge wolf whistle and immediately the security guards, the desk officials, the passengers, in fact practically the whole airport and Charles looked round.

Molly fought off an impulse to hide.

"See, stupid," said Bella, oblivious to the commotion she'd caused. "He's looking straight at you. Why don't you go up to him?"

After his curt letter, Molly wasn't expecting Charles to be overjoyed to see her. But as he pulled his bag off the x-ray machine and looked at his watch she wished the airport could swallow her and her family up.

"Are you looking for me?"

"Uh, yes I am. You know, don't you?"

"I certainly don't know why you're here, Dawes, if that's what you're asking?"

"No. You know about Candy, don't you? I mean you know what she did?"

"I know what Candy did – _now_ – but that doesn't explain why you're here?"

They stood; two defensive people on the edge of discovery, oblivious to the curious stares around them.

Somehow Molly found her voice: "Candy's letter. I got it this morning. I need to apologise."

He watched her warily and remained silent.

"I'm sorry. I know I've got some things to explain. I was so scared we'd all get into trouble." God. It sounded so inadequate.

"You're right" he said coldly. "You've got a fuck of a lot of explaining to do, Dawes." She nodded mutely and he looked away in frustration.

"So that's why you're here, is it?" He looked back at her, unsmiling. "To apologise."

"Yes. No. Well not the only reason." Her voice sounded shaky and uncertain, not like her own.

"God Molly! We've driven at breakneck speeds, all the way from Devon to find your Captain, and now we're here and you can't even speak to him!" Bella sighed loudly as if she was telling off a couple of stupid children.

Charles raised his eyebrows, and the beginnings of a smile started around the corners of his mouth.

The smile gave her a minute thread confidence that she badly needed: "Candy said you still love me," she whispered looking straight into his brown eyes.

He grabbed her arm and moved her away from Bella's teenage disdain, through the curious crowds to a quiet corner, where he blockaded her from inquisitive stares with his body.

"Candy's so desperate to make amends she'll say anything." Then he asked: "Did you really come all the way from Devon just for this?"

"We're uh, on the way to Weston Super Mare," she blagged, caught on the spot. "So it was just a short detour really."

There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes and she could tell he didn't believe her. Was that his thumb that began circling the soft skin below her ear?

She changed the subject: "Brains said the same thing."

"What did Brains say?"

His fingers reached the sensitive part of her neck causing havoc as sensations began to flutter in her stomach:

"He said you'd been really grouchy in the office ever since the reunion."

"Bloody disloyal. He's fired." He leaned in to kiss her.

Molly couldn't help smiling at the tiny nugget of pure joy that flashed through her as his lips brushed teasingly against hers.

"He also asked me to take one for the team."

"He did?" Charles was still looking at her mouth: "I'll have to promote him first."

"Do you really still love me?"

He opened his mouth, as if to deny it, then chewed his lip and smiled in resignation. "Is that a problem?

For a moment she simply stared at him – she couldn't seem to take it in. Then as

truth dawned her eyes lit up. "A problem. It's the best thing I've heard for

ages – years!"

A smile broke out on his face, followed immediately by a worrying frown. "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure?" She grinned: "I can't believe you're asking me that. I thought it was blinding obvious. I've never stopped loving you."

A huge smile lit up his face. He picked her up and swung her around until she giggled, giddy with love and delight.

Nan reached them as he finally put her down: "Bleeding hell, Molly. My lungs are finished. I'm gasping for a fag." She patted her hair down and turned to Charles: "Belinda was right about you. You _are_ gorgeous. But let me warn you young man.

You better be a good'n, because I'm telling you Molly, I ain't running like this after another."

Belinda wasn't far behind: "See, Mum, I told you you'd be impressed."

"Oh no," Molly cringed with embarrassment as she saw Charles literally

gaping at her nan and mum with astonishment.

"Close you mouth Boss. This is my nan, my mum and my sister Bella. "Don't worry. My family don't get much worse than this."

"So, you've all reunited. That's great news." The three women melted with delight as

Charles beamed them an enormous smile.

"And your Dad?" said Charles as Merv came forward to shake hands.

"Mervin Fisher. An ex-forces man like yourself, Captain."

Molly was finding it hard not to giggle: "My Nan's lodger."

Merve leaned in conspiratorally and mumbled: "Special Branch. Pleased to meet you, Sir."

Molly saw a faint gleam of amusement flicker accross Charles' face as he met her eyes and she had to look away before she lost it altogether.

Seconds later she met his eyes again. Somehow neither of them could look at anything else. They were too overwhelmed, too unbelieving and too happy to look away.

"We'll go and have a coffee, then," said Belinda, edging away.

"Coffee? I need a bleeding drink after all that excitement," said Nan. "Come on Merv. Stop gawping." She pulled Merv away towards an airport bar. "Here Belinda. Did you see the way he looked at her?"

"Shhh. They can still hear you. God Nan," sulked Bella in the distance. "You're _so_ loud."

"I _gonna_ love being with your family," breathed Charles into her ear as he pulled her back into his arms. "Your nan's hilarious."

"A total embarrassment you mean!"

"Shh," he ordered as his mouth swooped down on hers again. A little flutter of need awakened in Molly's stomach as he pressed her invitingly into his body and she wound her arms around him. She leaned provocatively into his hips and felt him harden in response. He smiled as he kissed her acknowledging the effect she was having and she grinned, elated with joy at their coupling and aroused by the delicious sensations that spiraled between them.

Then she remembered: "What about your flight?"

"Bugger the flight! I'm not letting you out of my sight now."

He looked round at the crowded airport. "What we need is a bloody hotel room."

Molly raised a naughty eyebrow. "Sir?"

He smiled patiently: "Yes Dawes. And in addition to _that_, you've got a fuck of a lot of explaining to do."

* * *

A/n I'm sorry that this has taken so long to update and special apologies to those who wrote demanding another chapter soon – I've been distracted by real life and the mid story blues have continued unfortunately. I'm going to make a determined effort for the next chapter which, for all the smut lovers among you, will be over on the dark side as chapter three of That's an Order (on the Smutty Side) in the M rated section.

Thank you to Wheelydragon in particular for your beautifully written PM, but also Onlyteasing, who always makes me laugh, Orphan, JenMC, Scuzzer and many others who have encouraged me after I admitted being troubled by the direction of the story. Thank you. You ladies are the nuts.


	14. Chapter 14: A lazy afternoon in Bristol

_Hi everyone,_

_Some of the characters from_ **That's An Order** have given in to temptation and been a bit naughty ... so this chapter has had to be re-rated for smut content and sent over to the smutty side.

_Rather than send the whole story to the smutty side, I've tried to re-rate just the offending chapter and link it up to the main story._

_To access this chapter, please go to the filters section on the Our Girl front page of the FF site and selected 'Rated: M'. You can then find the chapter in the story called_ **That's an Order on the smutty side **_which contains only the naughty chapters._

_If that doesn't work, please let me know and I'll message you the link directly._

_Sorry for any confusion this causes. And as always, thank you for your messages, follows and favourites. I hope you enjoy the next chapter._

_Dance_


	15. Chapter 15: Bad news from Kabul

Molly checked her phone for messages.

Nothing.

She sighed. It was eight weeks since Bashira had disappeared and she was struggling to keep up hope. Qaseem had hastened to Bashira's school to find out more but the head had been reluctant to answer his questions. On a subsequent visit he'd questioned the girls directly, but this had aroused suspicion and ended in a tense stand off with the security guards. He couldn't go back now. There were no other leads. Contacting her family wasn't possible. There was nothing to do, except wait and hope she might come back.

Once Molly had dared to dream that Bashira would go to college. Now she'd settle for Bashira being married. That was the best she could hope for. In Afghanistan anything could happen to a girl who was on her own. If she'd got married at least she might be protected. She might not marry a kind man, but alone, without anyone to watch over her, her fate was much worse.

Of course the one thing worse than getting married or being vulnerable alone was Bashira returning to her family. This was the thing Molly dreaded most. She tried not to think about it but she could never banish completely it from her mind.

Unfortunately she knew just how strong the pull of family was. How often, during the dark period after her dad had kicked her out, had Molly dreamed of returning home to her mum's outstretched, welcoming arms, to find her father somehow magically contrite and forgiving?

She looked down at her clenched hands and thought of her dad cooking up dodgy schemes in his shabby greenhouse while her mum tiptoed around his demands for beer money and the little ASBOs shivered in the streets after school, dodging home to avoid his frustrated outbursts. The reality was shit. But the alternative was a miserable, lonely world without your family.

What was the chance of an emotional reunion if Bashira found her way back to her mother in that dim, smoke-filled house in Helmand? Judging by how easy it had been for her family to strap her into a suicide vest, and send her out to explode, if those bastards were anything to go by, an honour killing would be more likely.

"God!" she whispered into the silence. "If only I could do something."

She pulled a cardigan over her West Ham kit. It was the end of October and those glorious, sun-drenched, summer days on the beach in Pembrokeshire with the Bossman were just a distant memory.

She was already waking up in the dark. The last few days it had turned so cold she'd started hanging her clothes on the radiator before she went to bed at night so they'd be toasty in the morning. These old gaffs were freezing when the temperature plummeted. She'd been utterly entranced by the shabby but grand Georgian house she'd moved into with three other medics in September. It had amazingly high ceilings and fading glory period twirls but come October the cold air blew through the ill-fitting sash windows and down the drafty fireplaces. Her parent's spit and cardboard council house in East Ham was miles warmer than this poxy first-class fridge!

She climbed out of bed and crept over to the wardrobe where her red shift dress was hanging on the door. She twisted the velvet and lace between her fingers and agonized for the hundredth time whether it would 'do' at her first meeting with Charles' parents. She wasn't one to dress up much and to be honest she was shitting herself at the thought of going to a party at his family's house. Charles had tried hard to reassure her, to persuade her that his parents were longing to meet the girl he'd fallen in love with, but she knew there was a world of difference between those posh country types and an East End squaddie with a dodgy dope head for a dad.

"Don't talk yourself down girl" she told her reflection in the wardrobe door. "You are a squaddie learning to become a quack. That must count for something." She had to meet his parents sometime and besides, seeing them meant she was going to be with the Bossman again. She grinned as she anticipated their reunion. The first in seven weeks! Since racing to catch him to the airport and spending a brief, provocative night together in Bristol they'd been limited to texting each other and squeezing in a couple of skype calls. Charles had been travelling and they'd had little time to talk. To say she was desperate was a bloody understatement!

Her mind fluttered back to their night in Bristol. At the time she'd thought it had been pretty tense, especially after supper. She'd been feeling so joyful she'd almost danced back to their hotel room. But then the Boss had sat her down on the bed and quietly told her about his painful meeting with Candy, her illness and her inadequate relationship with Smurf. At the time Molly had hardly been able to take it all in. She remembered seeing the blur of Charles' reflection as she stood at the window blindly looking at car lights moving through the dark streets below. She'd struggled to hold back her tears because Charles was watching her closely but all she wanted was a few moments to mourn the loss of her friend unloved.

And yet, now what she remembered about that night was discovering a side to Charles she'd never suspected. Beneath the highly disciplined, ex-Captain she thought she knew, she'd uncovered a passionate being who'd joyfully lead her into such a beguiling sensual intrigue, she'd been utterly captivated. She'd never felt so adored, her body so intoxicated, her mind so challenged by the daring possibilities of sharing her life with him.

She frowned at her watch. Better crack on with it. She didn't have much time. Somehow she'd managed to get roped into meeting Candy in Newport this morning as well as going to the Bossman's parents' party in Bath this evening. Neither place was that far from Bath, but since she'd bleeding written off her car by wrapping it round that lamp post in Clifton, she was going to have to go to both places by train.

To be honest, if she'd known the Bossman was coming back this weekend, she'd never have agreed to see Candy first, but she couldn't _jack off_ now. Candy was expecting to meet her in the cemetery. And bleeding hell, she was dreading it. I mean what d'you say to a woman in Candy's situation? She hadn't a bleeding clue.

She was still searching for the right words two hours later as she pushed Candy to the top of the hill in the cemetery that overlooked the Bristol Channel. As they cleared the trees she saw the unsettling, blackish, yellow light of an approaching storm. Gloomy rain clouds threatened the small patch of clear sky.

"Lucky I bought us umbrellas," she said, smiling at Candy. "Looks like it's going to piss down."

_That's about right_, she thought as she pulled the umbrellas out of her bag. _It's sodding awkward but we're Brits so let's be polite and talk about the weather._

For such a sombre occasion Molly had the most unsuitable umbrellas. She'd grabbed them from the hall at the last minute. One was her kid brother's giraffe umbrella with sticky-out pointy ears and the other had a cartoon picture of an owl saying '_too wet to woo'_. God knows where she had got that one.

_Nan says you can tell a lot about people from their umbrellas,_ she thought. _I bet Charles has a long black one with an old-fashioned wooden handle. The kind my dad would always swipe from the doctor's._

Candy didn't seem to notice. She looked towards the south and saw the clouds scudding in off the sea. "I used to come up here in the rain. I couldn't bear the idea of Geraint, or Dylan, getting wet." She gave a tight, anxious smile. "Once you've had a child, you can never stop worrying about him, even when he's grown up, after he's gone."

Molly wondered which child Candy was talking about. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. She hoped it was Smurf, although given what the Bossman had told her that seemed unlikely.

"I've never had any children so I wouldn't know, but I bet you've spent some time up here," she smiled, embarrassed by her crap response.

She felt the weight of needing to reply, but she didn't know what to say. She didn't have any children, and apart from Smurf no one else close to her had died. She had no experience to compare with Candy's.

"Just a bit!" Candy looked around the graveyard. That tree was just a sapling when we brought Dylan here. Just three years on and look at it."

Molly turned to see a delicate pink tree; it's fine leaves blustering in the approaching storm.

"It's an Acer, the gardeners say." Candy stared up at it. "I wanted to tear it out then, by its roots. For a long time it reminded me of the day we left him here." She shrugged. "Now it just reminds me how much time has passed."

Molly smiled and touched Candy's shoulder.

Candy looked down at her hand, and frowned: "You'll have children one day. Perhaps you and your Captain."

"I don't know about _that_."

Candy laughed, a weak, tentative laugh, but her eyes were still bright. "You know I have a feeling that..."

"Now don't you go telling me about your feelings," Molly interrupted. "I'm afraid of what you see in the future. I don't want to know."

"That's only because you don't want me to say: 'I told you so.'"

"You're damn well right!"

The quickness of their exchange, the sudden ease of shared humour, after all that had gone on surprised them both.

"You'd have been a chopsy daughter-in-law Molly Dawes!"

A fat, heavy raindrop splashed onto Molly's nose. She wiped it off. "Yeah. You're right there too. You had a lucky escape."

"That poor Captain's mother."

"Now, hold it right there. You've already got me married with kids and scrapping with the outlaws. Don't write me off so fast! I've got to be a doctor first!"

They looked at each other in surprise for a second and then burst out laughing.

"Come on." Molly turned the wheelchair back down the path. "Let's go before we get pissed on."

She struggled to push the wheelchair back to the car. It slipped on the wet grass and got stuck on mounds of decaying leaves. "You want one of those motorized wheelchairs," she said brightly. "You could whizz around Newport and up here on your own."

"What, the kind that pensioners carry their dogs on? In my state, with the chemo drugs I'm taking, I'd probably run someone over!"

"Anyway, there's not many places I need to go to these days. Just up to St David's - the hospice - one day a week, up here for Smurf and Geraint, and over to Elin's to see little Cerys on Fridays for tea."

"Cerys, Geraint's little girl?"

"Yes, she's six now."

Molly looked down at Smurf's ring on her finger. "Look, I've been wearing this ever since Smurf gave it to me. For him, I mean. I'm happy to keep on wearing it, but..."

"It's not going to look like much when you get the Captain's ring on your finger."

Behind Candy's back Molly raised her eyes skywards: "I meant wouldn't it be better to keep it in your family and give it to Cerys?"

She slipped it off and handed it to Candy.

"Never bought me or Smurf happiness," Candy sighed. "Perhaps it's cursed."

Didn't do much for me either, thought Molly, but she said: "You could sell it then, or have it made up into something else, earrings perhaps."

Molly could see Candy staring into the distance, the ring lying discarded in her hand.

"I'm not so interested in possessions at this point Molly. I haven't the energy. I've made a will and left everything to Cerys, but what will she want with my rubbish? Crap mostly."

"Give it to her," Molly urged. She hesitated, not wanting to interfere, yet... "She's no memory of her dad or his brother. She needs to remember you, needs to know where she came from. You could engrave it."

"Yes. Perhaps I should." Candy opened her bag and slipped it into a zipped pocket.

* * *

On the train back to Bristol Molly couldn't help looking at her ring less finger. It felt strangely light without Smurf's ring. There was a corresponding weight off her mind. She felt free somehow, from Smurf and Candy's expectations to focus on her relationship with the Bossman, to be his girl.

Just as she was thinking about what that meant, her phone rang. It was him.

"Bossman. You're early!" She could hear the smile in her voice.

"Where are you?"

"Coming back from Candy's."

"Are you okay? His voice was full of concern."

"Yes. Don't worry about me. I had a laugh actually."

There was a silence. Charles was obviously struggling to understand how Molly might have a laugh in such serious circumstances.

"Okay," he said eventually. "I was worried you'd find it upsetting. Anyway, my meeting has overrun and I've been booked on a later plane. I'm sorry." He sounded strained, impatient even.

"When will you get in?"

"Not till 7.30."

There was a silence.

"Don't wait for me. I'll be late for dinner. Take the train down to Bath and I'll get a taxi from the airport. I'll meet you at home."

"But I've never met your parents."

"My father's an army man. He's waiting to hear all about your Military Cross."

"Okay can handle that. But your mum?"

"Don't worry. Mother'll be far too busy to give you the inquisition."

"Inquisition?" She'd have to look that up in Qaseem's dictionary.

"Yes. I'm her precious only child, after all!"

Molly wanted to say no, but she felt she couldn't. Damn Charles' job!

"I'll let them know." There was another silence and Charles laughed briefly. "Don't worry _MC_. I'll get them to lay out the red carpet."

"_MC_? What d'you call me that for?"

"Ha! Tell you when I see you, he teased."

"No now," she begged, wanting some reassurance - anything - from him.

"Later."

That wasn't what I wanted, thought Molly nervously as he hung up. I just wanted you to be there when I met your parents.

By the time she got to Temple Meads station in Bristol, her delicate red dress crushed in a Bergen, she was still feeling unsure. And if she was honest, a little resentful too

How can he leave me to meet his parents on my own? she wondered as she sat down to wait for the Bath train. What will I say to them?

Her phone beeped again and she saw a message, this time from an unknown number.

_Regret to inform you that Mr Qaseem is taken from his apartment yesterday night... Family suspect Talib involvement... Your advice please, Ali_

Molly frowned. Qaseem... what, taken? Disappeared?

Kidnapped? By the Taliban?

"Oh no!"

The woman sitting next to her turned round to stare. Molly realized she must have spoken out loud.

She felt a cool shiver of fear. She knew what the Taliban did to former ISAF interpreters. Or was it just a coincidence? And who the fuck was Ali?

She sat under the greying arches of Bristol Temple Meads, trying to think what she could do.

Minutes ago she'd been bricking herself about meeting the Bossman's elegant, cultured mother. Now with the image of Qaseem in danger, possibly dead somewhere she knew the real taste of terror.

I should go to him. I know.

A London bound train came into her platform. The Bath train was due straight afterwards.

I should go to him...

Molly tried to clear the fog and panic out of her head.

"I should go to Qaseem."

The whistle blew and in a blind moment she got up off her bench and ran towards the train door. In seconds she was standing in the corridor on the London train. She waited for a few heart-stopping moments, willing the doors to close, the train to move, the decision to be made. She had to prevent herself from getting out. To stop herself going over to the bench to pick up the flowers she left there and getting onto the Bath train to give them to Charles' mum. To stop herself from skipping out of spending the night with Charles.

In her mind she could see Qaseem, his gentle face tormented with fear, being bundled out of his flat and into the blood red sunset of a Kabul evening. Her legs refused to move.

Then she heard the whistle blow and the doors closed with a quiet finality. She sat down blindly in the first seat, relief tinged with fear as the engine started and the train slid off.

I won't think about it, she thought as she saw the vague shapes of central Bristol swim past the window. A tear rolled down her face and she wiped it away determinedly. There was no time to cry.

She didn't know what to do. Was she really going to get on a flight to Kabul?

She knew she was fucking up. Why wasn't her life simple like other peoples?

That was the pissing army for you.

She should phone the Bossman first. But she didn't want to. She was afraid he'd try to stop her. He would be furious. She couldn't let him stop her. She owed it to Qaseem and she had to find him. He was like her dad. Not like pissing Dave. Qaseem was like the dad she'd always wanted. Charles could wait. She needed to get to Kabul and find Qaseem first.

* * *

_Hello everyone, I'm really sorry that it's taken SO long to update after a really long summer and a rather hectic Autumn RL. I almost gave up on That's an Order completely, but thanks to your messages (some encouraging, some irritated, all supportive) I've finally found my writing mojo and here's Chapter 15. Apologies to anyone who has to read 14 chapters again in order to remember what happened before... I'll be quicker updating next chapter. _

_Dance..._


	16. Chapter 16: Do people change?

Charle's plane was beginning to land. Through the window he could see the bright lights of Bristol and the dark shapes of the Bristol Channel beyond. Far in the distance the lights of Newport glimmered as if in a dim, spectral mist.

He looked down at his work spread over the tray table. He was working on an agreement for another sanitation project in Nigeria. But the area had just been placed off limits for overseas UNICEF staff due to the increased threats of terrorist attacks. He sighed: 'Damn Boko Harem! And Isis!' Local people were going to suffer as projects were scaled back and calculating risk became a deciding factor. These days working at UNICEF felt a bit like being back in Helmand, when he had to consider sending his men out into uncertain danger.

Northern Nigeria was not the only territory that had recently been placed off limits. Several other projects had either been abandoned or scaled back in Syria, Iraq and Libya and it was already affecting his team's ability to work. He had 30 staff in Geneva used to travelling all around the world and he now had to think twice before sending them anywhere. Their work was in jeopardy and if this continued much longer their jobs would be under threat. Charles had already let go of his consultants and temporary contractors in an attempt to protect his long-term staff, but they couldn't go on like this much longer. The thought of making good people redundant, many of whom he'd worked with for years and had become close friends with was like a constant pressure bearing down on his shoulders.

He powered down his laptop. Thank Christ he had a week off. Despite misgivings about work, he was looking forward to this holiday. He was going to spend a good deal of it with Sam. Somehow after their summer holiday, they'd come to an understanding. Sam had promised he'd behave better and Charles had persuaded Rebecca that Sam should spend more time with him in Switzerland. She had promised to discuss it with him this half term. He hoped she would concede ground. Sam needed his father, and at the moment with the reduction on travel overseas, Charles could spend more time with his son.

Then there was Molly. He leaned his head back on his seat and briefly closed his eyes as he felt the plane touch down with a slight jolt. Damn it, he was looking forward to seeing her. He smiled as he permitted himself a moment to think of the amazing day she'd burst back into his life at the airport to announce that she loved him. The muscles in his stomach contracted at the memory. Even now, when he thought about that moment, he couldn't help smiling. The contrast between the reticent, delightfully skittish Molly and her brazen family, barefaced with Cockney grit, had been a revelation.

But their reunion in Bristol had been all too short. There had been scarcely any time to discuss anything during that brief, unforgettable night and his work had kept them apart since.

Looking back he knew they should have talked more; they needed to re-establish some trust after all the bloody misunderstandings. But the heartstopping shock he'd felt when she turned up at the airport and then the utter bloody joy at learning she still loved him had left him reeling. The rest of that brief day had rushed past in a sort of glorious, dizzying madness. Her beauty and obvious delight were so alluring that even at dinner, giddy with wonder and champagne, he could barely keep his hands off her.

But somewhere in the back of his mind the weight of his afternoon with Candy bore down on him and he knew he couldn't delay that conversation any longer. He had expected Molly to be upset, but he hadn't expected to feel so helpless and resentful as he watched her standing apart at the window, wiping her tears away and whispering "Fuck, fuck it, fuck her" in a fury of sorrow.

So instead of making wild love to her as he'd wanted to, he'd spent the night holding her tense silent body, whispering reassurances onto the soft skin of her back, and trying not to think about Smurf's meltdown on the bridge. He suspected that she'd much rather mourn alone. By five am, sick of wondering feverishly whether the ghost of Smurf would ever release them he'd let himself out quietly deciding not to wake a tear-stained, exhausted Molly.

The last thing he wanted was to leap into a long distance relationship with Molly, when they hadn't talked about what the future might hold, but pressure of work had forced them apart for weeks. And now that same pressure was forcing Molly to meet his parents on her own for the first time. He felt more than a stab of regret as he recalled the reticence in her voice on the phone, but it was just an hour or so and he knew his parents would treat her well.

If he was honest, his job was forcing him to live away from the people he loved. And yet he didn't feel ready to give it all up and return to England either. Not for Molly. Not while the extraordinary passion they seemed to have discovered in each other seemed to tip so easily into a volatile misunderstanding. Not yet.

Not while Molly wasn't ready to settle down either. If she had been, maybe she'd have married that bloody army doctor guy? He scowled at the thought. Christ it was difficult not to get jealous of this guy who seemed to have replicated exactly the relationship he'd had with Molly.

Charles put the thought away resolutely as he hurried off the plane, through arrivals and into a taxi. He looked at his watch. 7.51. It would take about 43 minutes to get home. He should be there at 8.34. Damn. Not in time to go into dinner which his father always required at 8pm sharp, but not too late entirely.

Hopefully he could rescue Molly from being subjected to any table wide discussions. He wondered how she was getting on, what his mother would be telling her. He hoped they weren't discussing him.

He grinned as the taxi finally drove into the Royal Crescent. He couldn't imagine how his mother would respond to Molly's assertion that her house was like _The Omen_. He couldn't ever imagine his mother even watching a film like _The Omen_. Yes, it would be a challenge, but his mother was a survivor and Molly rose to challenges. That was one of the things he loved about her.

Letting himself into the hall, he pulled off his coat and removed his tie. He heard the restrained chinkle of silver against china from the dining room and a woman said: "How dreadful. What will you tell him?" in a gossipy tone of melodrama.

He glanced in the winged Regency mirror. It was beautiful, he conceded, but the antique convex glass made it bloody useless to look into. He could just about see that he looked all right - better once he'd smoothed his hair with his hands.

He walked into the dining room and greeted his father. He tried not to look around the table for Molly, but his eyes slid to the right of his father's chair. His mother's old painting teacher sat looking down at her glass. Surely they'd seat Molly there? He felt a hand on his arm and looked over to see his mother looking anxiously in his face.

"Are you alone?" she whispered as she kissed him on the cheek.

He stopped trying to find Molly round the table. She wasn't there.

"Yes." He found her question odd.

"Then let's get you a drink." She steered him determinedly out of the dining room.

They left in an unsettling silence and she led him into the small study.

"Where's Molly?" he tried to keep his voice light, even, and not betray his disappointment.

"Don't you know?" His mother frowned. "She never turned up. I thought she'd..." She broke off as he stared at her.

"She's probably got delayed. Have you phoned her?"

"She'd call. I mean, she's not that disorganised." He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "She's in the army for God's sake."

"Well look at how your father behaves. He never tells me anything."

"That's different."

"Is it?"

Charles found Molly's number. He pressed his lips together. He didn't want to talk about his parent's marriage. Not now.

"He's 65 years old. You're not going to change him now."

"At your age I thought change was possible. How wrong I was!"

His mother's voice was challenging and he realised she was irritated. Was it with his father for being unreliable? Or was it with Molly for not turning up? Perhaps it was with the drama, or the inconvenience of it all?

He walked to the window as her phone rang twice and went straight to voice mail. Where was she? He tried not to think about what it could mean. That she was avoiding him? Again? He wrestled with it for a moment and then gave up.

"You're right," he said to his mother, "maybe I hoped for too much."

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Dear all, sorry that there has been another long wait for just one chapter. I'll be impressed if anyone remembers what this story is about! The next few chapters are half written though, so hopefully they won't be long in coming. Thanks for reading and for your support, I hope you enjoy it...


	17. Chapter 17: In the Green zone

"So tell me again, just what the pissing hell are you doing here?"

"I've told you. I've come to find Qaseem."

"Qaseem? Who the flying fuck's Qaseem when he's at home then?"

"You know," Molly looked around at the driver warily.

"If you don't tell me I can't fucking know." Fingers cocked his head towards the driver: "You don't need to worry about him. He's one of mine."

Molly whispered; "Our translator, back in the FOB."

"The Professor guy?" He swivelled round to Molly. "What him? But why? You've come all the way to Kabul for him? Jesus! You've got all the fucking moves." He grinned: "Are you knobbing him as well?"

Molly looked away in frustration. "Knobbing him? Of course not I'm not bleeding knobbing him. He's my mate. And anyway, what d'you mean _as well_? You bloody know there was never anything between me and Smurf for fuck's sake."

"Yeah right. That's not what Smurf said! And anyway, I wasn't talking 'bout Smurf. I was talking about your, uh _thing_ with the Bossman."

"What _thing_?" Molly shot back.

"Ha!" Fingers was jubilant. "Don't try and hide it from me. I know all about it. You were all over each other at the reunion."

"That's bollocks, Fingers, you Manc wank."

"No it's not!" he shouted with a manic grin: "You avoided each other in the pub on the last night and copped off afterwards. Then you shot off in the morning so you didn't have to face him again and he's been like an arsehole ever since."

Fingers laughed: "And no wonder he's pissed, if you've come out here to cop off with Qaseem."

Oh God! Molly didn't want to think about Bossman. Not after she'd left him hanging in Bath. "I haven't come here to cop off. Christ Fingers! Qaseem's like my dad."

"But you've already got a dad. Don't make no sense to come out here for another."

"Because my dad's a pissing piece of crap, alright!"

"No different from my bastard, old man." Fingers shrugged. "But I ain't looking half way round the world for another."

"It's more than that." Molly rubbed her eyes. It was hot, she was thirsty and beginning to feel jet lagged. "Qaseem's been looking after Bashira for me. And first she disappeared and now he's gone. And I feel responsible."

Fingers touched her arm in a surprising show of tenderness. "I'm sorry they've gone. But their disappearance might not be related. He's not the only interpreter to have gone missing in this shit pit."

The driver slowed at a roundabout where cars hooted and jerked their way through a chaotic maze of vehicles. Molly looked out of the window at the policeman directing traffic with his Kalashnikov. "I know," she whispered almost to herself. "That's what I'm worried about."

"Well it's very, uh _sweet_ that you've come out looking for him. But you can't just wander around the country asking after him, you know. It's bloody dangerous here. You'll end up disappearing yourself, if you do."

"Look, I don't want to bring any danger on you, Fingers. I'll stay in a hotel"

"That's not what I meant, you dozy mare. And you can't just rock up at any hotel in this place either."

"Then I can stay with you?"

"I can swing it for a few days. A week. At the most. After that my manager's back from R and R and you'll have to go – HOME."

Molly raised her eyebrows at his strong tone.

"I'm not joking. There are rules for people who live here. My contract says I can't have anyone to stay over night unless agreed with our security first. I can slip it by when my manager's out of the country but not when he's here. It's so bloody strict here. I can't stay overnight anywhere else either. We might be in the green zone but it's still unsafe."

"I could pretend to be your girlfriend."

Fingers raised his eyebrows.

"Why not? You have me sleeping with all my other mates."

Finger's eyebrows raised even higher: "I think we both know that ain't ever going to happen."

"You're damn right it ain't!" Molly playfully punched his arm: "Still love you like an older brother though…"

"Thing is Molly, how will you be able to even look for him? Once you're in the green zone, it's like a ring of steel – concrete. It's there to protect all the foreign workers. Even inside it's dangerous. There are only a few safe places to go to. A couple of cafés, the restaurant at the Hotel Mustafa where the journos hang out and a music club near the Australian embassy. Even in the green zone you can't walk around anywhere. The only safe way of travelling is by car and if you go out of the green zone, you have to go in a convoy of two blast resistant cars surrounded by security."

He leaned forward: "Kabul is not like the rest of Afghan. We have a name for it – _Kabubble_. It's had millions of dollars of US aid pumped into it and you can see where the money's gone – to militia leaders that the US have armed to fight the Taliban, the fuckwit gaudy villas with gold columns they've built all over Kabul, the grand wedding halls where they waste thousands of dollars marrying off their children. And out in the countryside, where it's still as poor as piss, those militias are running riot. It's brutal Molly. I'm telling you.

Their car stopped, at the entrance of the Green Zone and Fingers nodded at two ANAs checking the bottom of their car for IEDs.

"Seriously, Molls. More foreign civilians have been killed in Kabul since the war than ISAF troops during the war. You're risking your life. You shouldn't be here."

Molly looked at the soldiers inspecting her passport. They looked a bit too uncertain for effective guard duty. One of them was even wearing flip flops. "I hear your concerns Fingers and I get it. But this isn't the first time I've been to Kabul. I've worked here on two missions and visited on three other occasions. I've learned a bit of Pashtun and can go about quietly in a niqab. Last time was during the coup and I even escaped an explosion and a shoot out."

"You weren't alone then, were you?" Fingers reminded her as he handed her back her passport. "You had the Bossman with you."

"Well yes. He did help," Molly conceded reluctantly.

"And we all know how the two of you like to help each other," Fingers teased.

"Shut it you twat." Molly shot back as they passed through the checkpoint. "Any more sick jokes about me and the Bossman and you'll pissing regret it."

"Oh yeah? Well bring it on then!" Fingers challenged. He let out a laugh. "You and your bloody burqa are probably going to get me into a lot of trouble, but I've missed you Dawsey and it's going to be a lot of fun having you around again!"

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Hi everyone, It's taken a long time to get this updated, I'm sorry. Thanks to everyone who wrote, begged, prodded and poked me. You kept the story bubbling away in the back of my mind... I hope you enjoy this chapter... Dance x


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